


The Appearance of Favoritism

by powmeow



Series: Logical Fallacies [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Cameos, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Meet-Cute, Romance, Slow Burn, Starfleet Academy, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-17 11:58:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8142982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powmeow/pseuds/powmeow
Summary: The moments which chronicle the slow appearance of favoritism between a solitary commander and an overachieving cadet.





	1. Troublesome

Everyone warned Cadet Uhura that the summer semester of Advanced Subspace Communications was an unreasonably difficult course, which only passed perhaps half of the class (on a good semester). However, given her current course load, she found no better alternative, and in any case Nyota Uhura was never one to be intimidated by a challenge. On the first day she was the only one who sat in the front row of the sparse lecture hall, expecting a soft-spoken, silver-haired Vulcan in weighty robes. She was considerably surprised when a smooth-faced Commander took his place in front of the class, uniform zipped tight, hands placed evenly on either side of the podium. He greeted the class, introduced himself as Commander Spock. He was the youngest instructor she ever had, although she suspected he was much older than he appeared, given the Vulcan lifespan.

As he spoke, Spock's eyes surveyed the room and paused briefly on a female cadet with a keen gaze. While the rest of the class sat at least three rows back, she watched him from just several feet away. He noted that she might come to be one of those troublesome students who tried to win good grades through incessant, unnecessary questions in a poor imitation of genuine academic interest. Even then, something about her sharp expression struck him as uncommonly intelligent.

* * *

The first time Uhura visited Commander Spock’s office she dropped her PADD on the desk between them, reciting his closing comments with a stern voice. “There is no way I’m taking this.”

Spock nodded, affirmed his theories about her. “I believe I was clear in my comments. Thus far, you are progressing towards a passing grade, but as I described, the work was adequate, not exceptional.”

Uhura shook her head dismissively, her ponytail swaying as she took a seat before his desk. “I know _that_. I understand your comments perfectly well, and as expected, they are completely logical.”

He set down his stylus, but gave no response.

“I want to make this paper exceptional.”

“Miss Uhura, the marks have been posted. Regardless of your effort, I will not change them.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know _that_ too. That’s not the point. So tell me what I’m missing.”

He stared at her and she thought she saw the corners of his lips tug into a momentary ghost of a smile. “Very well. I will send you some contemporary papers on the subject that you have neglected in your research. Let us first examine the weakest section of your argument.” He took the PADD and scrolled through her essay and she brought her chair slightly forward. Their conversation continued well past the end of his office hours.

* * *

“Commander Spock!”

Spock slowed his stride and glanced over his shoulder. Cadet Uhura was walking quickly across the quad, resisting the urge to break into a run. He stopped.

“Is everything alright, Cadet?”

“The article you sent me last night—I just read it over lunch—I’d really like to know your opinion on the third section.” She was slightly short of breath, her cheeks flushed with energy.

He tilted his head almost imperceptibly. “I had expected, given your approach, a much more urgent inquiry.”

Her lips curved into a smile. She adjusted the strap of her bag. “Are you laughing at me, Commander?”

His eyebrows gave a puzzled twitch. “As you can see, I am not.”

“Your eyes are laughing.”

“I fail to see how eyes are capable of laughter.”

She ignored this and pulled out her PADD. “May I walk with you? I really would like to hear your thoughts before class.”

They fell into step, her long legs matching his stride with ease.

* * *

A month into the semester, as the withdrawal deadline neared, almost half of the class had dropped. Uhura sat at a library workstation, knee-to-knee with two classmates who were scrutinizing her notes.

“That’s so obscure!” One of them hissed.

“Do you think it’s fun for him to nitpick like that?” The other one groaned.

“Can Vulcans even have fun?”

“Who knows.”

“Guys,” Uhura cut in. “He’s not that bad. I mean yeah, he’s kind of tough, but it’s partially cultural, right?”

“Are you defending him?”

“You’re such a teacher’s pet!”

Uhura didn’t respond. She was used to this—classmates being nice to her face so that she would help them pass, revealing the things they said behind her back through sarcastic quips.

“It almost seems like you like him—”

“I _don’t,_ ” She said flatly. She did _not_ want another rumor about her and a teacher circulating the class. This happened last semester too, when she was too enthusiastic with her Klingon Linguistics teacher, despite the fact that he was old enough to be her grandfather. “Listen, I’ll just transmit the rest to you. I just realized I promised my roommate I’d have dinner with her.”

They protested as loudly as the library regulations would permit, but she stood up regardless. Her eyes suddenly met with Commander Spock, who was sitting in the opposite workstation with his PADD plugged into a databank. Her lips parted slightly, but he looked back down before she could formulate any words.

The other two stood up and began walking away. They glanced over his sleek head of hair without registering it. Uhura tucked her PADD back into her bag and left.

The next morning, rather than greeting her with a brief “Good morning, Miss Uhura,” Spock busied himself with something on his PADD when she walked in. It may have been a coincidence, but it seemed to her there was something deliberate about the way his fingers moved across the screen. She spent the entire lecture waiting to catch his eye, but he didn’t look at her once. By the time she sat in his office for their scheduled meeting that afternoon, her stomach was in a tight knot of anxiety.

Spock went straight into a criticism of her second paper’s thesis. He had been considering, since the previous day, that perhaps their frequent meetings were beginning to affect the cadet’s relationship with her peers. It was something he had observed often in humans—resentment towards others’ achievements—envy. He found her inquiries and comments on the material to be both insightful and engaging, and his responses, he realized, were bordering on enthusiastic. He was beginning to think it would be better if he moderated their interactions and tempered any interest that might appear preferential.

“I’m sorry.”

Spock stopped mid-sentence. “Regarding?”

“The other day at the library. It was rude, bordering on xenophobic. They just get moody when they don’t get A’s.”

“It is illogical to apologize for the opinions of others.”

“Still…”

“Do not trouble yourself. I am accustomed to it, and it is not in my nature to feel wounded by their words.”

“Right. Vulcan.” There were times when he appeared to her as almost human, in the expressive shape of his eyes. That afternoon in the library, she thought she caught a trace of hurt in them. She had to remind herself that she was just projecting human sentiments onto him.

He paused for a moment before continuing. “I realize I should express my gratitude. Although it was unnecessary, you countered your classmates with favorable opinions about my class. I understand that this is considered a service.”

She shrugged and looked away. “I didn’t mean what I said after, though.”

“Explain?”

“It’s not that I don’t like you.”

“That is inconsequential.” He hesitated before returning to the thesis. “But… in this situation, it might also be appropriate to say thank you.”

She smiled. For a second she thought his eyes looked a bit softer. She indulged in that notion.

As the weeks drew on, Spock found it increasingly difficult to adhere to his plan to distance himself from her, until eventually he was forced to abandon it all together. He acknowledged, because Vulcans were not in the habit of lying to themselves, that she intrigued him.

* * *

The week before the final exam, Commander Spock pulled Uhura aside after class to request her presence in his office later that day. She felt her classmates’ eyes on her as he spoke, and gave a terse nod.

She sat across from him that afternoon, watching him finish some notes at the edge of her seat. “How can I help you?” she said when he set aside his PADD and folded his hands.

“I wanted to discuss the paper you turned in last Friday.”

She bit her lip.

“It was far beyond the scope of this class. In fact, I believe it could be a potential topic for a thesis, if you choose to pursue it.”

Her chest fluttered with relief and she let out a breathy laugh.

He tilted his head slightly. “What aspect of my statement do you find amusing?”

She shook her head. “No… I’m just relieved. If I can impress you, I can impress anyone.”

“That is an incorrect assumption.”

“You really think this could be a thesis? I’m only a junior.”

“That is what I said. I believe you have the aptitude to begin an early proposal. It will give you more time to develop your concept. If you would like, I can recommend you to an advisor.”

“Yes, I think I would. I have a commitment this afternoon, but I want to discuss it further as soon as possible. Do you want to get coffee this weekend?”

“I do not drink coffee.”

“Then tea. Or something? You know… meet somewhere?” She was disarmed by his confusion. She had proposed this with many instructors—some of the more open ones even preferred it over meeting in their office.

“We can meet here.”

“On the weekend?”

“The building will be open.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Don’t you ever get tired of this office?”

“It is perfectly adequate.”

She smiled. She was in a good enough mood to be amused by his obstinacy “Okay. What time works for you?”

* * *

The afternoon following her final exam, Uhura sat in Spock’s empty office. She had never taken the opportunity to really examine it, usually wrapped up in some heated discussion. It was austere, as expected. Unlike other teachers’ offices, there were no decorative touches, save for a strange-looking plant in one corner of the room. It was small, due to the number of more experienced, better ranked and decorated officers on staff. A gray, two-seat couch sat against the wall opposite his desk, just under a wide window. There was a low glass table in front of it, containing a stack of well-preserved, ancient paper volumes, Vulcan script curling down their spines. She wondered if he ever sat on the couch. She had never seen him leave his desk.

Spock paused in the doorway when he saw her.

“Sorry—it was unlocked, so I let myself in. Maybe I should have waited outside…”

He shook his head and sat down on the couch. She smiled a little as she watched him lock his fingers at the exact center-point between his knees. “How can I help you, Miss Uhura? Did you have questions about the final exam?”

She turned her chair to face him. “I wanted to ask…” She took a breath. “May I be a teaching assistant for your class? I heard that they decided to offer the fall section to you, and I noticed you didn’t have an assistant this semester.”

He just stared blankly at her for a moment, and she waited for the flat refusal she expected. Instead he looked down, calculating the meaning of her question. “You are the first student to make this request.”

“Oh.” Despite his unaffected manner, she felt a twinge of pity.

“You are certainly qualified,” he continued. “I will have to adjust the curriculum to accommodate your role…”

“If it’s too much trouble, I don’t want to force you to…”

“I would like to,” he said plainly. “I believe your presence would be beneficial for my students, and for myself.”

Even though his face remained expressionless, the way he formed his words seemed like an effusion of praise. Astonishment left her momentarily speechless. In her pause, he surveyed the room.

“You will need a workspace.”

Three weeks later, Uhura returned to his office to find that the plant had disappeared, and the couch sat a little bit closer to the door.  A small desk stood in the corner, a PADD placed neatly at its center. He motioned to it without ceremony and launched immediately into a list of instructions leading up to the first class. Even then, she couldn’t help but feel a little pleased.

By the third week they were side-by-side on the couch, explaining concepts in tandem as nearly half of the class lined up for his office hours.

* * *

Summer waned into fall. The days became shorter, and Uhura found herself in Spock’s office after dark increasingly often. One night, they were in the midst of debating the relevancy of one paragraph in a student’s essay when the power blinked out. The building fell silent without the ambience of its technological hums.

“What…?”

“Engineering department.” Spock’s voice carried through the dark. She heard him shift in his chair. “They perform power experiments on this building because it lacks any essential equipment.”

“Except the doors,” Uhura noted.

“Typically, the offices are empty at this hour. It will pass soon.”

As her eyes adjusted, she saw the outline of his figure behind his desk, illuminated by the blue gleam of their handheld devices. After a pause he stood up, felt his way over to sit down next to her.

“Does this happen often?”

“From time to time.” The low timbre felt intimate in the quiet peace that had settled over the room. “I often take it as an opportunity to meditate.”

Their PADDs fell asleep one by one, and the room became awash with night. Neither of them moved, reaching a silent agreement to draw out the empty moment that was rare in their busy schedules. She had the fleeting realization that they might be the only two people in the building.

“What is Vulcan like?” Uhura asked suddenly. It was something she had wanted to ask for a long time, but found difficult to work into their conversations when met with his unyielding gaze. There was something careful and closed-off about the way he looked at people, more strained than other Vulcans she had met. She took it to mean that he was a private person, and never asked much of him outside of their academic concerns. Yet while his face was cloaked in shadow, she found a rare opening and leapt for it. Despite her determination, her words came out in a half-whisper.

“Specify which aspect of Vulcan you are referring to.”

“Your favorite, I guess.”

He paused thoughtfully. “I do prefer Vulcan cuisine over that of Earth. Replicators are unable to capture its subtlety of flavor, and I have not yet discovered anywhere in the city which serves it perfectly. I am able to eat it only when I have the chance to prepare it myself, which is not often, and there are many ingredients which are strictly regulated and difficult to come by.”

“I’ve only been to that one place a little ways off campus.”

“Their preparations are adequate.”

“But not exceptional.” In the silence that followed, Uhura thought she could sense a smile. “What about the landscape? Is it beautiful?”

“The hues of the desert are rich. Beautiful is, however, a subjective term. I cannot accurately affirm whether it is so, as we may not share an opinion on what we consider beautiful.”

“I hear it’s hot.”

“Relative to Earth, quite so. Humans do not fare altogether well in the Vulcan summer.”

“Winters here must be pretty hard for you then.”

“At times. San Francisco is not unbearable. Unfortunately, my physiology does not allow me complete comfort on either planet. While I find Earth winters to be quite cold, I also find Vulcan summers uncomfortably warm.”

“Your physiology?”

“I am half human.”

“Oh. I guess that would explain it.”

“Specify?”

“Your eyes.”

In the silence that followed, the power thrummed back to life, filling the room with bright white light. Their gazes met suddenly, unexpectedly close. They both looked away. Uhura shifted closer to the armrest, rubbing her eyes.

“I should probably head home.”

She caught a nod out of the corner of her eye. “Until tomorrow, Miss Uhura.”

 


	2. Winter

Winter fell early that year. By mid-November, webs of frost clung to the windows every morning and the wind began to bluster in the evenings. San Francisco whispered the possibility of light snow.

Uhura peered into Spock’s office one morning to see him sitting on the couch, back perfectly straight, hands resting lightly on his lap. His eyes were closed and his expression soft. She stopped, considered whether she should disturb him.

Tiptoeing through his office, she gathered his jacket from the back of his chair. She placed it gently over his chest, tucking it around his neck carefully. She could transmit her question later.

The sudden warmth that enclosed his body interrupted Spock’s meditation. He felt the minute prodding of fingertips on his neck and shoulders, smelled a trace of sandalwood lingering in the air in front of him. He could feel the heat from her body graze his cheek, and wondered distantly about how close she was standing. Her earrings gave a slight ring as she straightened, but he didn’t dare open his eyes until he heard her footsteps recede down the hallway.

Later that week, Spock directed a question at Uhura from his desk and received no response. He repeated it, but her silence continued. When he looked up, he saw her sitting on the couch, leaning slightly against its arm, head cocked to one side. The sound of her breathing was even and slow. He watched her for a moment, considered whether or not he should wake her. He noted the shadows which had formed under her eyes in the past couple of weeks. The end of the semester was wearing on her. Perhaps she was not getting enough rest. Her chin dropped to her chest.

Spock crossed his office and knelt before her. He cupped one side of her head and inched it upright. Despite his attempts at being as gentle as possible, her eyes fluttered open suddenly. When they met his, he saw her face change into an indecipherable expression. He studied it with a mild curiosity.

“Commander?” she whispered.

He released her. “The angle of your head might have put strain on your neck. I was attempting to prevent such a discomfort.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

He nodded slightly and stood. “You are welcome. Perhaps you should return to your quarters and rest.”

“Yeah…”

He watched her gather her things from around the room.

“Miss Uhura…” he began.

“Hm?”

“I would like to thank you for covering me on Monday.”

“Covering you?”

“With my jacket.”

Uhura paused, her bag poised on her desk as she slipped her things back inside. “Oh. You were awake?”

“I was meditating.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Spock didn’t have a good answer for this. He had been debating the positives and negatives of expressing his gratitude on that point for the past few days. On the one hand, he had been attempting to practice what humans called “positive reinforcement” with more frequency over the course of the semester. He had, in his most recent evaluation, been told that he was lacking in the verbalized commendation and encouragement that were essential to effective command and instruction. On the other hand, he was certain this situation was different from any other acknowledgements of appreciation, though he could not be sure exactly why.

“I was meditating,” he repeated when he was unable to come up with a better response.

Uhura squinted at him for a moment and then shrugged. “No problem, I guess. This winter must be hard on you.”

“The temperatures are lower than average for this time of year.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Complaining is illogical. Repeatedly restating an undesirable fact does not change it.”

Uhura grinned and swung her bag over her shoulder. Discovering that he was half-human had heightened her sensitivity to the subtleties and undertones of his deadpan. Her sharp ears caught the very minor variations in his tone, and she was beginning to get a sense of his personality, despite all of its Vulcan muffling.

“I won’t tell, Commander.” She winked at him on her way out.

Spock sat staring at the closed door, dwelling on the way she looked at him when she woke. Each time their gazes met, he recounted the many times she had commented on his eyes. More than once he found himself pausing in front of his mirror, examining his own expression. Still, he could not determine what about it she found so fascinating.

In the last week of the semester, Uhura placed a small red bag on his desk. He raised one eyebrow questioningly.

“It’s a Christmas present,” she said. When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up her palm and continued. “Yes, Commander, I know that you probably don’t celebrate. But I also wanted to thank you for everything this semester.”

He paused, before nodding. “I will accept, then. Although, I am the one who should be expressing gratitude. This semester, very few students withdrew from my class. I have also found that they have been performing better on assignments. It seems our rapport during lectures has rendered me less… intimidating to my students. Until now, very few sought me out after class, but your presence here has made my office hours appear more approachable. I have been offered the position for spring semester, as enrollment has doubled, and I must attribute this partially to your abilities. If your schedule and commitments permit, would you agree to assist me once more next semester?”

Uhura’s eyes lit up. “Yes, absolutely! I admit I had my reservations, but I really am falling in love with communications. And working with you has been… fun.” She looked away, barely catching herself before she could say “surprisingly”.

He nodded. The change in her demeanor illustrated clearly why his superiors insisted on such unnecessary statements of gratitude. It left him with a unique satisfaction. “I will be in touch at the end of our recess.”

He picked up his stylus, but noticed that she had not yet left his desk. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

He looked at her for a moment, before putting down his stylus once more and reaching carefully into the bag. He pulled out a dark gray hat and stared blankly at it.

“Well, you said that winters were hard for you,” she said unsurely. “So… I thought this might, you know. Protect your ears.” She flicked the tip of one of her own.

“That was… considerate, Miss Uhura.” He paused and looked up at her. “Thank you.”

When he said nothing more she gave a nervous shrug and excused herself. She walked back to her dorm at a brisk pace, feeling ridiculous. It was a stupid present.

* * *

Never one for empty days, Cadet Uhura filled her winter break with flight training in the mornings, volunteering three afternoons a week at an after school program for off-world children, and teaching herself Romulan, one of the only major alien languages not offered in the Academy. When the holidays neared, she took a week to visit her family in Nairobi, playing with her little cousins and getting a head start on next semester’s readings on their verandah. On the weekends, her friends forced her to go out, allowing for no excuses in the middle of vacation. In the moments between, she did research on her thesis. Despite the jam-packed schedule that might have overwhelmed a less driven human 22-year-old, Uhura felt refreshed by all the activity.

One night, after a long evening alone with wine and her thesis, she felt the sudden urge to speak to Commander Spock. What began as one offhand question quickly escalated into a whole list of things she wanted his opinion on. After a moment’s thought, she sent him a quick transmission.

_Dear Commander Spock,_

_There are some aspects of my thesis that I would like to discuss with you. Particularly, a section that references an old, niche Vulcan text which I can’t seem to find a complete transcription of anywhere. I was wondering if you’re familiar with it, and if you wanted meet sometime next week to talk about it?_

_Best Regards,_  
_Cadet Uhura_

She was surprised by the almost immediate response.

_Cadet Uhura _–__ _I am currently visiting my home on Vulcan. Therefore I cannot meet next week. _–__ _Commander Spock_

She frowned, and then felt embarrassed for asking. Of course he didn’t want to spend his time off with one of his students—especially not one who was constantly badgering him about her thesis during the semester. Her PADD gave a trill as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She squinted at the short line.

_I will be back in the following week, if you are available then. Please specify which book you are referring to. –S_

She snatched it up and typed a response.

_I am familiar with the text. Shall we have coffee? –S_

Uhura read it twice, bewildered. She looked dubiously at her wine. Maybe she had one too many.

_Coffee? –NU_

_My office building will be closed. You previously suggested drinking coffee as an alternative. –S_

_Coffee sounds_ —she paused, smirked— _acceptable. –NU_

A week and a half later, Uhura watched Spock approach through the wide front window of a café just off campus. She arrived early to organize her notes before their meeting, and recognized his even gait through the corner of her eye. He wore gray pants and a black jacket nearly identical to his uniform, zipped all the way up despite the relatively mild weather. His ears were tucked into a simple gray hat which, from a distance, didn’t look very different from his hair. She pursed her lips, afraid of smiling too widely when she greeted him.

He sat across from her and placed a neatly wrapped rectangular package on the table between them.

She curled her fingers around it. “What is this?”

“A gift. I understand that Christmas is a time where gifts are exchanged. As I received one from you, it would be customary for me to reciprocate.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“Perhaps not. But it will benefit you to accept.”

It was an old, bound paper book. She flipped through pages covered in Vulcan script. She turned to the cover and inhaled sharply. It was the book she had been looking for. “I can’t accept this!” She pushed the book towards him. “How did you even come by it?”

“It was in my family’s archive.”

Uhura couldn’t help but wonder what kind of family had a personal archive, especially one with such rare material. “I definitely can’t accept it then. Isn’t it like… a family heirloom?”

“Our archive is extensive. My father will not notice its absence. It will be of more use in your hands, where it will be read and studied, as was its intended purpose.”

She wasn’t sure whether she should be touched. His demeanor gave no indication of this being a particularly sentimental gesture. “Would you be in trouble if he found out?”

“I am already in trouble. And he will not find find out. At least not for a few decades.”

Uhura raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you were so rebellious, Commander I-Never-Miss-A-Button-On-My-Uniform.”

“I do not understand the relevance of my buttons.”

She smiled. He didn’t deny being rebellious. But of course, Vulcans didn’t lie. She covered it with the wrapping paper to protect the fragile bindings and slipped it into her bag, folding a sweater around it for extra padding. “Thank you. I’ll treat it with care.”

They sat in the coffee shop for hours. Their intellectual parlay was natural and inexhaustible, and Uhura grew more animated with every word. Spock felt inexplicably refreshed by their conversations. He was surprised by how keenly he anticipated their meeting, and how comfortable he was in her presence. She never seemed bothered by his affected speech or his insistence on following logic, the way most humans did. At the same time, she passed over any indications of emotion that punctuated his behavior from time to time, which Vulcans treated with disdain and humans answered with unbridled astonishment and discomfort. Perhaps this was an example of the way proximity lead to affinity.

“Are you hungry?” she asked suddenly as they hovered between topics.

“Moderately.”

“Do you want to get dinner? I was going to tell you about this place I found when the semester started, but since we’re here now…” She put away her PADD and began to slide her arms into her jacket.

Spock saw no logical reason not to accept. He would require a meal that night regardless. He nodded and stood up. He saw her watching him intently as he slid the hat back over his ears. “This gift was useful.” He thought she might be seeking an affirmation.

“Logical?”

He paused. “Are you teasing me, Miss Uhura?”

She laughed in response. “Come on.”

They walked through campus, past the academy bar crawl which was just beginning to light up with evening activity. After ten or so minutes, Uhura ducked into a small alley. The restaurant was mainly for take out, but two small tables were tucked into one corner. She placed her bag on one of them.

“This is Vulcan cuisine.” Spock observed aloud after surveying the restaurant. The décor was in deep reds and oranges, and the temperature was much higher than necessary. A stern looking Vulcan woman with heavily lined, angular eyes stood at the counter.

They exchanged a respectful greeting in their native tongue. Spock pondered the menu for a moment before ordering. The woman seemed mildly surprised when Uhura ordered in Vuhlkansu as well.

“Nope!” Uhura extended her ID card as she watched Spock’s hand reach into his pocket. “This one is on me. I owe you big time for the book, and all this extra help.”

“It was a gift. You are not indebted to me.” Spock attempted, but the meal was taken care of before he could protest further. They sat across from each other, their knees nearly touching under the small table. Their food arrived.

“You’re smiling.” Uhura commented happily as she watched him take the first bite.

“It is quite authentic.”

“Exceptional?”

“Yes. Exceptional.”

Uhura began eating as well. “A classmate of mine who spent last semester on Vulcan recommended it. I thought you might like it.”

As they scraped the last bites of their respective meals Spock placed his spoon down and stared at her pensively. “Miss Uhura, may I make an inquiry?”

“Yeah?”

“This type of personal gesture concerns me. Are you seeking to win some form of favoritism?”

Her face fell into a frown. “Favoritism?”

“You will soon be in your final year, when you will be seeking recommendations for assignment. I have noticed that you initiated interactions more frequently towards the end of last semester. You have even requested a meeting during your holiday. I would like to clarify that such gestures will not have any effect on my willingness to recommend you, nor will it alter the content of such a recommendation.”

Uhura’s lips tensed and her eyebrows fell. She immediately stood up, gathering her bag and jacket.

Spock nodded, confirming his initial suspicion. “I will see you—”

“No, don’t act like you’re right, like you’re the one being logical.” Uhura tried to keep her voice measured, but the tips of her syllables trembled with rage. “After all the time we’ve spent together, do you really think that I’m that kind of person?” She shook her head in disbelief. “How do I put this as clearly as possible? You have offended me, Commander. Just when I thought I was actually starting to _like_ you.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a drawn out pause. Uhura towered over Spock’s seated frame, her shoulders squared and her chin high. Spock, for once, could not articulate an immediate response. She left him in the restaurant, staring at his empty bowl.

“Humans are easy to anger,” the woman from the counter said sympathetically as she cleared the table. He did not feel comforted.

Spock grappled with confusion as he embarked on the walk home alone. He repeated Cadet Uhura’s words in his mind, trying to parse her meaning. If he was mistaken, then anger would be the correct human response to expect from her. In that case, he would have been mistaken about her twice, which was a rare occurrence.

His thoughts kept circling back to the same logical possibility that he found difficult to consider: that he suspected her of vying for favoritism because he was, in fact, beginning to favor her company. The sky shook off a light dusting of fine snowflakes, which melted as soon as they touched the ground. He attempted to clear his mind and focus on the cold air against his cheeks, but he could not ignore the warmth that wrapped the tips of his ears.


	3. Apologies

Spock was considerably surprised when Uhura appeared at his lecture on the first day of the semester, sitting in her chair by the board. He had not contacted her about meeting before class, assuming from their last interaction that she would not be interested in assisting him this semester. He realized when he saw her that this was an incorrect assumption which, if he had reasoned further, he should have realized, given the cadet’s academic discipline and professionalism. Or perhaps he had chosen not to examine the matter further because he was unsure how to initiate conversation with her after such an exchange.

Though it is illogical to consider time as a flexible, Spock felt that the class passed much more slowly than it generally did. Uhura wrote formulas and drew diagrams on the touchboard behind him, but did not chime in the way she often had by the end of last semester. When he tried to approach her after class, she brushed past him and into the hallway without a word.

He did not see her again until the first assignment was transmitted later that week, and she took her usual place at the desk in the corner of his office to correct them. They spent two hours not speaking outside of curt comments about the papers. At the end he received and transmission of the corrected papers from her, but she had breezed out the door before he could even look up.

He was unsettled by her behavior. He understood that he had made an error, but could not perceive a way to express his remorse. If she were Vulcan, he would have explained to her clearly the fallacies in his logic, and she would nod and understand. Humans were prone to unpredictable emotional responses, and he did not know what to anticipate from such an attempt.

He was making himself tea in the communications department’s faculty room, when his eyes fell on a communications Lieutenant he knew stirring cream into his coffee. It occurred to him that perhaps it might be time to seek assistance, since he could not find a suitable course of action by his own means. This Lieutenant was human, and Spock had seen him engaged in what appeared to be positive social interactions with others of his species, which were good enough qualifications for his purposes.

“Lieutenant Perkins,” he began.

The Lieutenant looked up sharply, nearly sloshing the coffee he had just made for himself.

“May I make an inquiry?”

The young Lieutenant was alarmed to be addressed by the Commander who hardly spoke to anyone outside of department meetings, and always kept a stern expression. He searched his mind for anything he had done wrong in the past five minutes, ran one hand over his uniform to make sure everything was zipped and buttoned, felt for his insignia and rank clips. “Of course, Commander.”

“What is the appropriate conduct in human culture when expressing apology?”

The lieutenant took a long gulp of his coffee. “You… say sorry?”

Spock hesitated. “Given my last interaction with her, it may be wise to pursue a nonverbal form of apology.”

Perkins squinted his dark eyes at Spock, trying to make sense of the situation. “Are you… in a fight with your girlfriend, Commander? Also, you have a girlfriend?”

“I am not and I do not,” Spock replied rather quickly.

Perkins took another sip of his coffee without taking his eyes off Spock, unsure of whether he believed him or not. “Try flowers?”

“Flowers?”

“Yeah. Those Earth plants which humans decorate with, and use for gifts and celebration. Sometimes mourning. They come in lots of different varieties…” Perkins made some vague hand gestures.

“I am aware of the antiquated human tradition.”

The Lieutenant shrugged. “Listen I’ve got a class to get to. That’s the best I can offer.”

Spock watched him leave and considered this.

* * *

The next day, Cadet Kirk woke to the insistent ring of his comm. He groaned and rolled over. It was Cadet Uhura. He bolted up in bed and picked up. “Good morning, lovely Miss Uhura,” he said into the phone. “Have you finally seen the light?”

“Cut the shit, Kirk.” She snapped. He smiled. He rather enjoyed it when she was angry at him. It kept him refreshed. “Did you leave flowers in my drawer in the communications lab?”

Kirk had not. He wasn’t taking a com course this semester, and didn’t even have access to the lab. He assumed it was some other hopeful communications cadet. Since Uhura’s debut as a teaching assistant for Advanced SubCom, she gained a loyal following of second and third year communications students who also wanted to get on first name basis with her. “Yup, you caught me. Did you like them?”

“It was embarrassing and unprofessional and don’t ever do it again.”

She hung up on him without another word. Kirk laughed and started getting out of bed. Something about her steady voice had pulled him awake. She would make a great communications officer in some not-too-distant future.

* * *

When Spock returned to the lab, the first thing he noticed was a small, unassuming bouquet of hyacinths and tulips shoved unceremoniously in the organic waste bin alongside a half-eaten sandwich.

The flowers did not seem to have the desired effect, as Cadet Uhura still had not contacted him. Perhaps he should have attached a written note, to reinforce his apology. At the moment of purchase he had reasoned that such a gesture would be a waste of paper, which was rare and expensive, especially in the quality that the florist offered.

He would have to seek an alternative method.

* * *

Late that night, Spock placed his food in front of his comm screen for his weekly “dinner” with his mother. She insisted that they share a meal together, even if it was virtual. Spock agreed to this, despite the fact that it required him to eat at a time outside of Earth standard. It pleased him to see his mother’s face light up when they spoke.

“Good evening, Spock!” she flashed him a brilliant smile as the transmission began.

“Good evening, Mother.” He looked at her bowl. “What is your chosen meal for tonight?”

“Plomeek soup,” she said, raising a spoon to her lips.

Spock eyed her bowl enviously before forking some rice and Earth greens into his mouth. He had not had the adequate time to prepare a Vulcan meal that night.

“I’ll send you the recipe later,” Amanda said knowingly. Spock continued eating without offering a response. “You seem distracted,” Amanda said, after another moment of silence.

“I am currently facing a challenging situation with an acquaintance of mine.”

“Oh?”

He paused. “When you are displeased with Father’s behavior, what method of apology do you find most effective?”

“Well, I can’t really stay mad at him long. He’s so calm all the time, it keeps me sane.” Amanda swallowed another bite and looked upwards in a futile gesture humans often made when attempting to retrieve a memory. “After our biggest fight, your father gifted me a beautiful Vokaya amulet. He learned somewhere that humans gave gifts as apology, so every time we fight I wind up with something new, despite how unnecessary. Almost like a ritual.” Amanda laughed a little.

Spock knew which amulet she spoke of. His mother wore it often. He pictured it, momentarily, resting in the space between Cadet Uhura’s collarbones. It might look pleasing against her skin, which was the color of Lieutenant Perkins’ coffee that morning. He quickly dismissed the thought.

“I do not believe that such a gift would be appropriate in this situation.”

“Who is it for, Spock?” Amanda asked in bewilderment.

“A cadet.”

Amanda raised her eyebrows. “The same cadet you spent a full day tearing through your father’s archives for?”

“I did not tear anything.” he paused. “But yes. It is the same cadet.”

“What a formidable woman.”

“I do not believe I ever mentioned her gender.”

She watched him with a small smile. “No, you did not.”

An uncomfortable silence passed as Amanda sipped her water.

“If you do not have any further suggestion…”

“Spock, just say sorry. Humans aren’t that unreasonable.”

Spock hesitated. He knew that, of course. But each time he recalled the way her lips twisted and the lines between her brows deepened, he felt compelled to avoid such a confrontation in the future. Finally, he gave a slight nod. “Perhaps you are right.”

* * *

The following week, Uhura slipped silently into his office once more to correct his second assignment. After a quarter of an hour passed without her so much as acknowledging him, he crossed his office and stood before her.

“Can I help you, Commander?” she asked. Her speech was flat, unaffected by its usual, almost melodic ring.

He stood without speaking for a moment, resting his fingertips on the edge of her desk. “I apologize, Miss Uhura.” When she didn’t look up he thought it might be necessary to explain further. “I did not intend to offend you. Upon further reflection I realize that nothing in your behavior clearly indicated an ulterior motive. I was being… illogical.”

She raised her eyes carefully. “What a bold confession,” she said quietly. His usually direct gaze was focused on the table. She thought that just maybe, he was embarrassed. “Was it so hard to believe that I might like you?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. “I have met very few humans who, as you say, ‘like’ me. Therefore, I considered the possibility improbable.”

“That must be lonely.”

“Loneliness is illogical.”

“No, it’s not.” Uhura’s fingertips inched forward as she considered some gesture of comfort, but none seemed appropriate. Instead she handed him her PADD. “I think you should reconsider the way you phrase question 4. This is the fifth student who has given the same wrong answer. I’m not sure they can follow your logic.”

Spock nodded, grateful to end this conversation that was so far out of his comfort. “I will reexamine it.”

 


	4. Intoxications: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to split up this chapter because it got way too long.

Spock recognized Uhura’s voice even before he turned the corner.

“I’m going home,” she said impatiently as she came into his view. Her hair was loose, a sleek sheet hanging down her back. The high heels of her boots made her a few inches taller than the man pursuing her.

“Come on, I’ll walk you,” he insisted.

“I’m going home _alone_ ,” she clarified without turning around.

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” The man grabbed her forearm, pulling her backwards. She stumbled. Spock quickened his pace.

Without hesitation, she twisted his arm and elbowed him in the gut. He coughed and took a few steps back. “Bitch—” his eyes met Spock’s. “This is so not worth it,” he mumbled as he hurried back into the bar, more out of humiliation than anything else.

“Asshole,” Uhura muttered.

“Good evening, Miss Uhura.”

Uhura turned so suddenly, her hair flew into a gentle arc and settled over her shoulders. “Commander Spock!” her face flushed. This was the first time she had seen him outside of his office and outside of uniform since their argument over break. “What are you doing here?”

“I was intending to offer assistance, but clearly it was unnecessary.”

Uhura clasped her hands behind her back, unsure if she should feel proud or embarrassed. “Oh. Uh, I meant out in this part of town. You didn’t really strike me as a…” She passed her gaze along the row of rowdy bars, brimming with cadets and officers alike.

“I am returning home from dinner. I must thank you once more for introducing me to that restaurant.” He gave her an appreciative nod.

“It’s nearly 0200…”

“I was occupied in the lab until very late. I did not have time to prepare food.”

“On a Saturday?” She scrunched her face in a mixture of pity and disbelief. “Well…” she began walking again. He stood his ground, unsure of how to proceed. He was certain she expressed a desire to go home alone, but he was uncertain of how to walk in the same direction without giving her the impression that he was following.

“Are you coming?” she said after a few strides, tossing her hair as she looked back over her shoulder.

“Did you not want to return home alone?”

She laughed exuberantly. The sound was unexpected—a tight formality had formed between them, and she had not laughed in front of him in quite some time. “No, I just didn’t want to go home with that creep. Come on.”

He fell into step with her and noticed the unsteady sway in her stride. “You are intoxicated.”

 “Yes, Commander. If you didn’t notice, I just came out of a bar.”

“Although in most cases, being present in a bar implies the consumption of alcohol, it does not necessarily—”

“I get it, I get it. Yes, I am. It’s the weekend, and my roommate’s birthday, but she’s on her way to some fresh cadet’s apartment. So here I am, the too-serious, unattractive roommate, walking home drunk and alone. Or rather, getting walked home by my instructor.” She let out a breathy laugh and shook her head. “Do you work every weekend, Commander? Ever go out?”

“It is difficult for me to become intoxicated, which seems to be the purpose of such outings. Though my metabolism is not equal to that of a full Vulcan, it is still far superior to a full human’s.”

“So it’s difficult, not impossible.”

“Yes. Regardless, I do not engage often in such social activities.”

 “Of course.” Uhura got the impression that he wasn’t often offered an invitation. She imagined him alone in the lab and felt an ache in her chest. If it were anyone else, she might have put a sympathetic arm around him. Instead she clasped her hands more tightly behind her back.

They continued for a moment in silence. Spock watched the streetlights pass over her face, and could not help but observe the way her skin glowed with warmth. Her hair stirred in the slight breeze, and he found that he was mesmerized by its silken texture, despite its illogically excessive length. “You were incorrect in your previous statement.”

“Hm?”

“You are not unattractive.”

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

“Your features are pleasingly symmetrical. Your figure is proportionate. Your hair and skin appear soft. I believe these are all considered attractive features.”

She gave his shoulder a gentle shove with hers. “Are you trying to make me feel better, Commander?” she asked in a teasing voice.

“No. Simply stating facts.”

“You charmer.” She paused and gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re… not too bad yourself.”

“Can you qualify the term, ‘bad’?”

“You’re easy on the eyes.”

“… Explain?”

Uhura stopped, rocking a bit as she turned towards him. “Let’s see, how do I put it in your terms? Well, your haircut is stupid.”

“This is the traditional—” Uhura reached up and touched his hair line, just in front of his left ear. Spock was surprised at the way his breath came up short. He found it difficult to continue speaking.

“It’s very soft, though. And—” her finger traced his cheekbone, then trailed back up his jaw. “The angles in your face are distinguished.” She flicked the tip of one ear. “And the ears actually look quite… ‘pleasing’ on your head.”

Spock’s mouth felt sticky. Her cold fingertips left lingering trails along his skin. He wondered distantly whether he was becoming ill—perhaps the ingredients in his dinner were not entirely fresh.

“But your eyes are definitely my favorite part.” She exhaled, met his gaze with a slow blink. One corner of her lips tugged into a drowsy smile.

He swallowed. “I do not understand the relevance of these observations in our current conversation.”

“I’m saying that you’re attractive, Commander. In your own way.” She gave his cheek a quick pinch and began walking again, laughing to herself as Spock tried to identify the humor in their conversation.

They stopped in front of the third year cadets’ quarters. “I guess I’ll see you on Monday?”

“That is correct.”

She sighed and looked up at the sky, tilting her whole body until her face came parallel with the night. Spock considered reaching out to steady her, concerned for a moment that she might tip backwards. “We’ll be up there pretty soon, huh? God, I can’t wait.”

The way the lights caught her dark, sharp-cornered eyes made them appear full of stars. When she blinked, Spock felt a queasy sensation, as though her long eyelashes had brushed the inside of his stomach. For the first time since he was young, his actions preceded thought. His hand reached up of its own accord and touched one of her long, shimmering earrings.

She looked at him in surprise. Their gazes locked, and for a moment, they began drifting closer, drawn in by the bold lines of their half-lit faces.

He quickly retracted his hand. “Good night, Miss Uhura.”

She watched his swift retreat down the street in confusion.

Spock followed the tree-lined path home, humming with strange sensations. He meditated until the sky turned a bright, creamy blue, untangling the threads of the unfamiliar emotions that grew in a tight knot within him.

* * *

The next morning, Gaila found her roommate at one end of a long table in the mess hall, slumped over a glass of water and an untouched plate of toast and eggs.

“Hey!” she said cheerfully as she dropped down across from her.

“I see you had a good night,” Uhura grumbled.

“I see you’re not having a good morning.”

Uhura squeezed her eyes shut and sipped her water gingerly. “I ran into Commander Spock on my way home.”

Gaila burst into laughter. “You didn’t! You were so drunk! Did you do anything embarrassing? Throw up on his shoes?”

Uhura covered her face with her hands. “You know how I get kind of handsy after my fourth drink?”

Gaila raised her eyebrows as she sipped her juice.

“I touched his face.” Uhura’s voice turned into muffled squeak.

Gaila sputtered into her cup. “Oh my _god_. Why?”

“I was trying to explain to him…” She flushed at the recollection. “Nevermind, it’s not important. But I’m supposed to be in his office tomorrow to go over Tuesday’s class and I’m just so embarrassed.”

Gaila shrugged. “Honestly, he probably isn’t really thinking about it much. Vulcans don’t really feel stuff like embarrassment or awkwardness, right?”

“He’s going to judge me.”

“He might. But who cares?”

“Right…” Uhura sighed. “Anyway, how’s your xenobio paper coming?”

Uhura changed the subject hastily, and they spent the rest of their meal without any mention of Spock. Afterwards, she made her way to the lab trying hard not to dwell on the events of last night. She touched one of her earrings absently. He had seemed so fascinated with her, his eyes inquisitive.

Moreover, she was sure that he had, in his own way, complimented her.

She was in the middle of this train of thought as she tapped her ID card to the lab door. It slid open with a gentle hiss. She was suddenly assaulted by Spock’s presence, bent over one of the benches. He was squinting through a magnification lens, tweaking a miniscule piece of hardware. As the door shut behind her, she realized they were completely alone. Nobody else wanted to spend their Sunday afternoon in the lab.

She thought about settling down at the bench furthest from him without a word, but then thought that would be way too unusual. She settled for a curt, “Afternoon, Commander.”

Spock, who was too focused to even notice someone had walked in, felt his whole body tense at the sound of her voice. It was unlike him to have a physical response to unexpected stimuli, but nonetheless a pang of queasiness twisted his stomach momentarily.

He looked up briefly and nodded, trying not to linger on her presence. “Miss Uhura.”

She studied his face for any change, but it maintained its usual expression. Gaila was right, she was reading too far into it. Her memories were hazy and it was possible that she had misinterpreted his behavior. Sometimes she wondered if she imagined all of the micro-expressions she caught in his face.

She had never stopped to consider his features before last night, but now she found them difficult to ignore. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but the neatness and delicacy of his gestures made her feel calm. She thought about the solid shape of the bones underneath his cheek, imprinted into her fingertips despite the murkiness of the rest of the night. She liked the way it connected the corner of his mouth to the edge of his eyelid and curved into the point of his ear.

“Is everything alright, Miss Uhura?” Spock noticed she hadn’t moved, and was now looking at her.

“Y-yeah.” She blinked rapidly. “Just wondering what you’re working on.”

“It is the project I was engaged in last night. I am assisting in the development of a more sensitive translation device. Our current technology is at times inefficient for certain more nuanced alien languages.”

Uhura crossed the lab to stand next to him, peering through the microscope. “Hmm.”

Spock stood very still. Her ponytail hung close to his shoulder as she tilted her head, and he had to resist the urge to touch it. He felt a powerful, inexplicable need to know how it would slide along his fingertips. He didn’t often crave such unnecessary information.

“How many departments do you work with?”

“Six.”

She laughed and shook her head. Her ponytail brushed his elbow before settling again behind her neck. “You’re crazy.”

“My most recent psychological evaluation confirms that I am perfectly mentally stable.” Although at times he was beginning to question that statement.

Despite the empty lab and ample free counters, Uhura set her bag down next to his. They worked separately, at times chatting and at times in silence, but they both found it difficult to concentrate on their tasks at hand, preoccupied by the very small space that separated their elbows on the bench.

* * *

"What _exactly_ happened, Nyota?”

“Hm?” Uhura’s attention snapped up to her roommate. The two had gone stir crazy studying for midterms in their dorm room and had decided to take their work outside. After finding every inch of the library occupied, they ventured off campus, mostly due to Gaila’s insistence. Out of sheer luck, they arrived at the kitschy coffee shop just as a couple was leaving, and now lounged on two mismatched armchairs with a small table for their coffee cups set between them. Nyota treated the table as a desk, studying her PADD with one elbow resting on its surface, and Gaila curled up in her chair, resting her PADD on her knees. She could not help but notice the way Uhura’s gaze kept wandering away from her notes—it was atypical for her studious roommate.

“After I left you on my birthday,” Gaila continued as Uhura just stared at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I can smell your pheromones from here. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Uhura substituted a response by taking a large gulp of her coffee.

Gaila set down her PADD with a clatter as she uncurled herself to look Uhura straight in the eyes. “You keep looking at Commander Spock. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Uhura tried to keep her face from betraying any reaction. As she ordered her coffee, she had noticed the Commander sitting at a table by the window, sipping tea and studying a PADD. His uniform jacket was draped over the back of his chair, and the black of his undershirt was a stark contrast to the sunlit street outside. His rigid posture caught her eye immediately. “He’s just always alone,” Uhura said distantly.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Nothing happened, Gaila.” She rested her cheek on her palm. “I kind of just miss hanging out with him. Things have been weird since winter break.” That part was true. She didn’t need to mention the added dimension of awkwardness prompted by the night of Gaila’s birthday. She and the Commander had barely spoken outside of class and office hours since, and she still found it difficult to look him in the eye.

Gaila scrunched her nose. “You have weird taste.”

“No, I mean…” she sighed. “I don’t mean it like that. He’s just really smart and interesting to talk to.”

A smirk crept onto Gaila’s face. “You _like_ him.”

“Not like that.”

“I’ve always found it frustrating how humans have to classify degrees and attitudes of liking. Your mating rituals are unnecessarily complex. Especially in your case, Nyota, since you have this inexplicable need to contradict yourself.” Gaila pointed an accusing stylus at Uhura. “But your pheromones don’t lie.”

“I wish you would keep your nose to yourself.” Uhura mumbled into her coffee as she took another sip. It was getting lukewarm. “I think I need a refill.”

As she stood up, Gaila picked up Uhura’s PADD and held it out to her. “Don’t come back,” she said. “Just go sit with him. I’ll be fine studying by myself.”

“But—”

“You’re distracting me,” Gaila said firmly.

“… Fine.” Uhura snatched the device out of Gaila’s hand and picked up her bag, turning away before she had to face her roommate’s smug grin.

A few moments later, Uhura set a fresh cup of coffee on the table in front of Spock. He looked up slowly, before sitting straighter. “Cadet.”

Uhura nodded. “Commander.”

Spock followed the lines of her face and the silken twist of her hair where it was pulled over one shoulder. She was in civilian clothes: a tan sweater and dark pants, tucked into the same boots she wore in uniform. Her earrings were delicate, sloping strands of carved wood, hanging just below her jawline. Her eyeliner was slightly smudged on her left eye, and the remnants of some form of rouge tinted her lips just slightly red.

“Um…” Uhura’s voice interrupted his detailed observation just as he became aware of how closely he was examining her. “Are you alone?”

“It is apparent that I am.”

She bit her lip. “Right. May I join you?”

Spock was, for a moment, surprised. He had expected that, due to his error over winter recess, it would not be possible for them to resume the ease their acquaintance had formerly held. Moreover, he found that since their weekend encounter, she had been even more evasive, which he took as a consequence of his inexplicably strange behavior that night. He doubted that she would ever again initiate conversation outside of the class she assisted him with. He considered this a loss, given how engaging he found her company, but he had accepted it. Yet here she was. “You may,” he said finally.

She sat down across from him and took a sip of her coffee. She expected him to turn his attention back to his PADD, but instead he just kept watching her. “So… What are you reading?”

“The most recent issue of the Academy science journal. There is an interesting article written by a colleague of mine analyzing some of the inherent flaws in our universal translator.”

“Oh. I’m guessing they’re working with you on your translator project?”

“Precisely.” He paused and took a sip of his tea, before pushing the PADD towards her. “I had considered sending it to you. I thought it might be relevant to your interests. However…”

Uhura nodded. “I know. It’s been weird.”

“’Weird’ is a very broad human term. Perhaps you could specify?”

Uhura picked up his PADD. “I want you to send me articles again. I want to talk about my thesis with you. I want to sit in the mess hall for way too long analyzing Vulcan literature. I want to play chess after office hours. I feel like I have a lot of things I want to talk to you about.”

Spock stared at her for a long time before giving a minute nod. “I believe that can be arranged. I, too, have things I wish to share with you.”

Uhura’s face softened, her grip on his PADD relaxing. She took another sip of her coffee and turned her attention to the article. Her eyes flicked up as she reached the end of the first section. Spock was looking out the window, his fingers curled into the handle of his cup. It may have been a trick of light, but she was sure she saw a gentle smile curving across his lips.


	5. Intoxications: Part 2

As the semester continued, Cadet Uhura and Commander Spock found themselves facing a number of misunderstandings.

“Are you having dinner with your boyfriend?” Gaila asked Uhura one evening as she pulled on her boots to meet Spock in the mess hall. She had just read this amazing article and wanted to talk to him about it right away.

“He is _not_ my boyfriend,” she said sharply as she walked out, even as Gaila raised her eyebrows dubiously.

One afternoon, as Uhura stirred sugar into her coffee while they discussed one of the counterpoints in her thesis, Cadet Kirk cleared his throat behind them. Uhura turned to him with her usual scowl. “Can I help you?”

He winked. “If you two are done flirting, I’d love to put some cream in my coffee.”

“Oh shut up, Kirk,” she hissed, grabbing Spock’s elbow to pull him away.

“Only if you tell me your first name,” he called after them.

Neither of the men took notice of each other, Kirk busy watching Uhura’s legs as she walked away, and Spock too distracted by the sudden pressure of her fingers around his upper arm.

Later that week, during office hours, an outspoken Cadet Sulu interrupted their debate about one of the finer points in his essay. “Okay lovebirds, I hate to interrupt, but I’d really like to talk about my conclusion before next period.”

Both the commander and his teaching assistant fell silent and stared at him with wide eyes. Sulu was already scrolling his PADD, unaware of how his offhand joke halted both of them mid-sentence.

“Perhaps we should adjust our behavior,” Spock suggested as they packed up for the day. “It seems that it is causing some… inappropriate assumptions.”

Uhura shrugged dismissively. “It’s not our fault. You’re the one who’s always complaining about the human tendency to ‘draw assumptions without sufficient evidence’,” she quoted.

“I do not complain,” he said quickly.

“I don’t understand why people find it so hard to believe we’re just friends,” she continued, ignoring him.

Spock slung his bag onto his shoulder and stopped. “Friends?”

“Yes, Commander. At least, I thought we were kind of friends.” She looked down. “I’m sorry. Did I do the assumption thing? I just thought since we spend so much time together… But if you—”

“No,” he said quickly. “I do not mind being… friends. I am just unfamiliar with the human parameters of such a relationship.”

Uhura watched the Commander’s head tilt ever so slightly to the side. The concern that tightened his features was actually a little endearing. She smiled.

“Do you enjoy my company? Can you trust me?”

He paused a moment before giving a slight nod.

“And I feel the same way. I think that’s enough to be a friendship.”

He stared at her, considering this as he tried to fish the dictionary definition of friendship from his memory.

“You could at least look a little happy about it.” She paused at the door. “Hey. I’m done with classes for the day. What about you?”

“I intend to return to the lab.”

She waved her hand. “Spock, you live there.”

“That is incorrect. My quarters are—”

“Let’s do something fun. A friend thing.”

Spock raised one eyebrow. “Explain.”

“Let’s get a drink. I just turned in my Ancient Vulcan Lit paper and I feel up for taking it easy for an afternoon.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Plus I know if I go back to my quarters, I’ll end up opening up my thesis again, and even I need a break sometimes.”

Spock considered her proposal. It was true that it would be more productive for him to return to the lab, but it was also not necessary or pressing. He didn’t often receive social invitations, and this may be a good chance for him to engage in human customs. He had many queries on the rituals of “friendship”, which he had always found puzzlingly varied.

“Come on, it’s only 4 o’clock. The bars will be empty.”

He tipped his head in agreement and found the way her eyes brightened and her smile stretched to be strangely rewarding. He was beginning to enjoy observing the way her expressions changed, and felt increasingly interested in examining the instances that he was the cause.

They walked shoulder to shoulder, Uhura speaking enthusiastically about the paper she just finished, Spock just content to listen. He enjoyed the way intellectual pursuits excited her. He felt that it was a reflection of the feelings he might have on the subject, were he human and open with such expressions. Uhura mostly liked having a companion who wouldn’t complain or be bored by her tireless rants about schoolwork. He never tried to fill their time with empty exclamations or tedious conversations. Everything he said had substance, and she found herself leaning into his every word.

They sat together at a bar which was mostly empty, save for one forlorn-looking commander at a table in the corner.

“Aren’t you going to order something?” she asked him as she took the first sip of her thick, dark beer.

“I was not intending to.”

She shook her head. “No, come on. It’s weird if you’re just watching me drink. I’ll have another of the same,” she called to the bartender.

Spock wanted to protest but the drink was poured and sitting in front of him before he could conceive a way to refuse without being rude. She was staring expectantly at him, so he took a sip. The flavor was rich and sweet, not altogether unpleasant. “Fascinating. There is great variation of flavor in human ales.”

“Is it ‘acceptable’?” she asked with a smirk.

He nodded. “Satisfactory, even.”

 Uhura thought she caught a hint of humor in his voice. Before she could comment on it, her communicator gave a ring. She flipped it open, reading the message with knitted eyebrows.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Uhura typed out a response. “It’s my mother. She gets angry if I go even 48 hours without talking to her. I was so busy with my paper I forgot to call her last night.”

Spock took another, longer sip. “My mother also becomes upset if I do not contact her frequently.”

Uhura was seized with an intense curiosity. He almost never spoke about his personal life. “So I’m guessing she’s the human half.”

Spock reveled in the minute expressions that crossed her face so quickly. He nodded. “That is correct.”

“How’d that even happen? It’s hard to imagine a Vulcan having enough patience for a relationship with a human.”

“My father said it was logical. And given his profession, I can see the benefits of having a non-Vulcan partner.”

“Profession?”

“He is an ambassador.”

He could see her mind turning over the information as she blinked and bit the inside of her cheek. “Your father is _Ambassador Sarek_?”

“Yes.”

The resemblance began to come together on angles of his face and the taper of his fingers. “Wow. So I guess it was a political thing?”

Spock recalled the way his parents smiled at each other when they thought they were alone, and the gentle way they touched their fingers. “Partially. But there are indications of genuine attachment from my mother, and at times even from my father.”

“That’s something I really can’t imagine.”

“Vulcans do not practice overt expressions of affection, but that does not mean they are incapable of experiencing it.”

“I never said they were. You aren’t the warmest person, but it’s pretty obvious how much you care about your students.”

“The objective of teaching is to ensure that your students experience success.”

“You’re actually really attentive. Some instructors are just here to do research, and don’t actually spend that much time helping their students.”

“That is illogical.”

“I _know_. And frustrating.” They neared the end of their drinks, and Uhura began to take smaller sips to draw out the afternoon. She couldn’t help but feel a buzz of excitement as he opened up. Getting to know him presented her with an exhilarating challenge, trying to decipher what lay beneath his veneer of indifference.

Their conversation continued, Uhura asking an unending stream of questions about his home on Vulcan, his research in the communications lab, his impressions of the students in their class. He answered each one patiently, and then, unexpectedly, he asked her questions in return.

Uhura ordered another round. She was surprised by how inquisitive he was about human behavior. She began to understand that what most mistook for aloofness stemmed from the uncertainties of being on an alien world. Over the months they spent together, her perception of him began to shift. Sitting this close, listening to her with steady concentration, he looked young and apprehensive.

She was in the middle of outlining the various factors that differentiated an acquaintance from a friend, when she noticed he had been staring at her with an odd expression for some time. She almost drew back when his hand reached over and touched her cheek. She was temporarily at a loss for words—something which didn’t happen often to this bright, articulate cadet. His thumb brushed the corner of her lips gently. “Commander?” her voice came out breathier than she intended.

“Foam. From your beer.”

“Oh.”

His hand dropped. She looked down at her lap for a moment trying to quell how rapidly her heart was suddenly beating. When she finally collected herself and looked up, she noticed that his face looked a bit slack, his eyelids unusually heavy. “Are you okay, Commander?”

He nodded, but as he tried to stand, she saw him sway. “Whoa.” She caught him by the shoulders. “Are you feeling alright?”

He looked into his second empty glass in confusion. “I do not understand. I should not be affected by alcohol. What was in this beverage?”

“Nothing, I swear! Just a chocolate stout!”

“Made with real, unreplicated chocolate—a rare blend,” the bartender chimed in proudly as he polished a glass. “Great choice.”

They both looked at each other and she swore she saw some color leak into his face. “I’m so sorry,” she said gravely. “I _completely_ forgot.”

“I must return to my quarters.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll go with you.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“I’d really feel better if I saw you home.”

Spock couldn’t find the energy to argue. The world softened as though he was underwater, and he found it difficult to follow a straight train of thought. The need to get home was paramount in his mind. She walked close to him as he tried his best to focus on putting one step evenly in front of the other. At one point he realized she was trying hard not to laugh.

“Are you mocking me, Cadet Uhura?” he asked very seriously, his tone bordering on offended.

“No, no. It’s just ironic. Since I was so drunk that time you walked me home. I mean, you’re nowhere near that level, but it’s still a funny role-reversal. Completely unexpected.”

This time she really did see the tips of his ears turn green. “I am unaccustomed to being impaired in this way. Typically, I do not react strongly to either alcohol or chocolate, but it seems that in combination, their effects are augmented. I apologize if my behavior is…” he couldn’t quite find the word he was looking for.

“Cute?” she supplied as he considered some options.

“I have never understood that term.”

She laughed. “We’re here, Commander. Your badge?”

“Right.” He tapped his I.D. on the entrance to one of the featureless gray buildings that housed commander ranked officers. It took him until they were standing together in the lift to realize she was still beside him. “I am fine.”

She shrugged. “Still.”

He was about to argue when the motion of the lift caused him to become unsteady for a moment, and she snaked one arm around his waist. He became aware of the steady warmth where her body pressed against his. The sensation was pleasant.

When the door to his quarters slid open, Uhura couldn’t help but peek inside—she may never get another opportunity to see where he lived. Its appearance caught her off guard. Though it was as tidy as she expected, it was far more adorned than she could have imagined, given the condition of his office. One wall was full of shelves stacked with ancient paper volumes, strange Vuclan artifacts, and unidentifiable scientific instruments. The plant that used to be in his office now stood next to his coat rack by the door, and a stringed instrument she recognized to be a Ka’athyra sat in a corner next to his couch. An intricate tapestry was draped behind it, and a chess set was placed in the center of his coffee table. She could have hardly guessed this room belonged to the stiff Commander that stood before her in neatly fastened Starfleet officer grays. It made her wonder how much of himself he kept behind closed doors.

Spock considered inviting her in. Some part of him wondered how she might fit into the shapes of his apartment—her body curled in the corner of his couch, her elbows resting on his kitchen counter, the impressions of her narrow feet on his carpet. Instead he just said, “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Uhura.”

She smiled and mumbled a quick “No problem,” and turned to leave. His hand caught her arm before he could stop himself.

“Commander?” The pressure of his fingers in the soft skin of her wrist was warm and firm. She hesitated, unsure of which way to move, if at all.

“I may be mentally compromised,” he began slowly. “I believe I would not have the ability to speak openly with you otherwise.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“I am concerned that, despite your effort, you will find a friendship with me unsatisfactory. I am not capable of demonstrating the necessary emotional familiarity implied by such a relationship.”

Uhura worked her wrist out of his loosening grip and held his hand between both of her own. “I’m aware of your nature, Commander.”

Spock hesitated before continuing. “I do not want you to believe that this is indicative of any indifference or dissatisfaction on my part. I enjoy your company, and—”

Uhura shook her head, gave his hand a squeeze. “I know that already. Don’t say anything you’ll regret later.”

He watched her walk down the hallway until she turned the corner with a quick flick of her ponytail, and felt for the first time the emptiness of his apartment. It was illogical, he knew, but the human part of him felt a pang that he had trained his entire life to suppress, walking home alone each day on Vulcan, eating alone each night on Earth, sitting alone with a PADD in starship mess halls while serving. Somehow, it still managed to resurface from time to time, and old reminder of his deficiencies, both Vulcan and human. As he poured himself a glass of water and watched the bubbles settle on its surface, he wondered if solitude was the logical inevitability of being comprised of two incomplete halves.

And yet, he thought as he took a sip, she said that they were friends.


	6. Attractions

“Commander Spock!” Uhura greeted Spock as soon as he walked into the lab. She was huddled over a comm station with two other students. She waved him over enthusiastically. Spock had become familiar with the particular shape of delight that her eyes formed as he looked at her: she was excited about something academic. He locked his arms behind his back and crossed the lab. The other two cadets exchanged alarmed looks as he approached.

“What have you found, Cadet?”

“I hate it when you can tell I’ve got something good before I can even start. Takes the fun out of breaking the news.” She gave him an exasperated look—the kind where her eyebrows lifted in warning but her lips quirked slightly to one side in an indication that, while she made an outward articulation of anger, she was not actually experiencing negative emotions. It was one of many complicated expressions he had, through proximity and practice, managed to decipher in his efforts to communicate more efficiently with Cadet Uhura. He wasn’t sure when he began this pursuit, but it had become a fascination of his—one he could not object to, as he was actually finding it constructive. Remarkably, his interactions with other humans were becoming more proficient, directly proportionate to the amount of time he spent in her society.

Uhura stood, pulled her earpiece out and pressed it into Spock’s ear without hesitation, touching his opposite jaw to brace his head as she did so.

“This is Romulan,” he stated with a slow blink that Uhura had come to identify as bewilderment.

“I know! I had been working on honing in on this channel for some time, and I’ve finally gotten it clear enough to understand. Commander Nichols is pretty much running across campus right now to get here.”

“From what I know of Commander Nichols’ professionalism, that seems highly unlikely.”

“Not literally.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I see. You mean to emphasize her eagerness.”

Uhura poked him gently in the chest with a smile. “You’re getting better at this!” A silence passed while the other cadets watched them with unrestrained disbelief.

“It really does sound so much like certain dialects of Vuhlkansu.” Uhura observed.

“A shared ancestry seems highly likely, if not certain.”

The door slid open and a very flushed Commander Nichols appeared in her Starfleet issue workout suit, a gym bag slung over her shoulder, stray hairs poking out of her bun. She saw Spock and quickly straightened. “Commander Spock.”

Spock gave a slight nod. “Commander Nichols.”

“I’m so sorry, I know it's completely against protocol for me to be here out of uniform—”

“It is understandable considering the significance of Cadet Uhura’s discovery. It may even be possible that you ran here.”

She blushed. “I didn’t, I swear—”

Uhura tried to muffle a giggle behind her hand. “I think he’s joking, Commander.”

Nichols stared at Spock’s blank face and then at Uhura, who was still laughing and unconsciously leaning into Spock’s shoulder.

“May I?” she said after a beat, holding out her hand.

Spock nodded and removed the earpiece, which she transferred to her ear.

“What do you think?” she asked him after a moment’s hesitation.

Spock and Nichols began discussing their impressions of the transmission and its possible source. Uhura rejoined the cadets.

“Uhura,” one of them said with wide eyes. “You are crazy.”

She raised her eyebrows.

He dropped his voice to a whisper. “When did you get so familiar with Commander Spock? Or rather, _how_?”

She shrugged. “I TA for his subcomm class. He’s secretly kind of cool.”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t give you a demerit just for touching him.” The other one gave a shudder.

Uhura rolled her eyes. “Why is everyone so scared of him?”

The two cadets tried unsuccessfully to formulate an answer that didn’t sound xenophobic. “You shouldn’t be touching Commanders like that,” one said finally.

Uhura felt suddenly embarrassed. It was true, she would never lay a hand on any other Commander, no matter how close she was with them. For some reason, with Commander Spock, after the long hours huddled over a PADD on the couch in his office, leaning across tables over coffees and meals, sitting with their knees brushing at a bar—touching him seemed normal. All at once she became aware of the ease with which she rested her hand his shoulder when she came up behind him, or gently swatted his arm when he said something particularly amusing or frustrating. Her fingers found each other behind her back and she squeezed them, feeling betrayed by their independence. She was spared a response when Commander Nichols called her over to join their discussion.

The three of them began a report on the transmission, compiling a list of staff they should share the recording with, drafting a departmental memo to plan a meeting. After a while, the cadets’ intellectual curiosity got the better of them and they joined as well.

“Oh shoot, the mess hall is going to close soon,” one of the Cadets observed after an hour had passed.

“We should just quickly grab some food,” the other one suggested.

“Okay, we’ll be back in twenty minutes, _tops_.” Uhura said as she and the cadets rose. “You want to join us?”

“No, you go ahead, we’ll eat later. I’d like to discuss a couple of more things with Commander Spock while you’re out.”

The three nodded and rushed out.

Spock’s eyes found a jacket that was slung over one of the lab stools. He picked it up. “This is Cadet Uhura’s.”

“Oh. I hope she won’t be cold,” Nichols said, watching Spock out of the corner of her eye as she leaned over some notes. “I didn’t realize you two were close.”

“We are… friends.” The word felt foreign on Spock’s tongue.

Nichols raised her eyebrows. “With a Cadet?”

“Cadet Uhura is remarkably intelligent. I have no doubt she will be a Lieutenant very soon after graduation,” Spock answered in a pace that could almost be called defensive.

“That’s certainly true. I’m not sure I could have picked up this transmission myself, considering how jumbled it was when she first heard a trace of it.”

Spock was still holding the jacket, recalling the day’s weather forecast and trying to determine how uncomfortable Uhura might be without another layer.

“Why don’t you go give it to her,” Nichols said, nodding at the jacket. “They can’t have gotten far, and she’ll probably be cold. Plus, you should thank her. It’s rare that we talk outside of department meetings. I’m not sure we would have had this conversation if it weren’t for her, and I’ve found your insight to be very valuable. She’s been doing some really great work here.”

“Indeed.” He nodded slightly and left the lab.

Nichols watched him exit and a remote possibility lit her mind. She shook it away. “No way,” she said out loud with a slight chuckle, feeling ridiculous for even considering it. “Not Spock.”

“Miss Uhura.”

Uhura turned to find Spock pursuing her down the hallway. The other two cadets hesitated and she waved them on. “I’ll catch up in a sec. What’s up?”

He handed her the uniform jacket. “I believe you left this in the communications lab.”

“Oh yeah! How did you know it was mine?” She turned the featureless red cadet jacket in her grasp.

“Sandalwood.”

She looked puzzled for a moment, and then blushed, remembering the lotion Gaila gave her for her birthday in their first year, which she had taken a liking to and continued to purchase since. “I thought only Vulcan females had a heightened sense of smell.”

“That is correct. However, I have come to be familiar with this particular scent.” He paused, trying to formulate an expression of gratitude, as Commander Nichols had suggested. He didn’t get the chance because she quickly looked down and took a few steps backward, indicating a disinterest in continuing their conversation.

“Um, I’d better catch up with them. I’ll see you later.”

Spock watched her walk away hastily, clutching the jacket to her chest. He wondered if he had offended her somehow. He could not understand why, at times, humans responded to clear statements of fact with such discomfort. She seemed to be in quite a hurry to part from him, and it was curious how she had forgotten to put the jacket on.

* * *

“Shit!”

Eyes fixed on their respective PADDs, Uhura and Spock collided on their way into his office one afternoon in March. Uhura’s scalding hot tea splattered over his shirt as the cup slipped out of her grasp and rolled onto the carpet, coinciding untimely with one of the rare moments Spock did not wear his jacket. She saw a very faint wince cross his face, the sudden pain not giving him the opportunity to temper his reaction. “ _Shit_ , quick, quick take it off.” Spock blinked with surprise as Uhura tucked her PADD under one elbow and peeled his shirt off swiftly, pushing him further into the room. They took a few more steps before Spock’s thighs pressed against the edge of his desk. A fresh patch of greenish skin was forming on his stomach where the tea had soaked through his shirt. He examined the wound, and then pulled his shirt off entirely.

“It is mild,” he assured her when she continued to stare.

One of Spock’s hands came down on his desk, as he once again found it necessary to employ conscious thought in an effort not to touch her. Her hand still rested on his stomach, his wound blooming in the space between her thumb and forefinger.

Uhura’s eyes followed the shadows formed by his muscles, from his chest, down his sternum, along the curve of his ribcage and into the dip of his pelvis. She caught her wandering gaze and looked abruptly up to his face. Again they experienced a degree of surprise in their nearness, suspended in the simultaneous desire to move away and move closer.

Uhura’s PADD slipped out of her elbow and landed with a soft thump. She ducked down to pick it up, tucking her hair behind her ear repeatedly, despite the fact that only a few strands were loose from her tight ponytail.

“S-sorry. I’ll get the first aid kit right away.”

Spock watched her shuffle around the room, overwhelmed by the myriad sensations that were assaulting his body. It was becoming abundantly clear that he was suffering from some strange sickness.

That afternoon, he sat on an examination table at the Academy’s medical facilities when a bored-looking medical cadet entered the room. “Excellent,” he said in a Southern-American lilt. “A Vulcan. I’m up for a challenge today.”

“I am half Vulcan,” Spock clarified.

“Even better! What’s wrong?”

“I am concerned that I may be experiencing the human autoimmune phenomenon of an allergy. I have never been susceptible to it before, and I am therefore unsure of how best to proceed.”

“Any idea what you’re allergic to?”

“Perhaps sandalwood. I have an acquaintance who wears some form of sandalwood perfume, and I find myself feeling unwell when I am exposed to it.”

“That’s interesting. What are your symptoms?” The doctor began examining Spock with his tricorder.

“I feel slightly lightheaded, occasionally my mouth feels dry. When I am in very close proximity to her, my pulse quickens and I feel mildly feverish. I also find that I have become particularly sensitive to the scent. How do I treat this?”

“ _Her_ , huh?” The doctor squinted at him over his tricorder, a glint of amusement crossing his face. “Say uh…” he glanced down. “Commander Spock. My tricorder doesn’t read any allergies, or anything outside of perfect health, for that matter.”

Spock’s eyebrows drew in.

The doctor barked a laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just have a crush.”

“What sort of condition is that? Are you quite certain I’m not ill?”

He waved his tricorder in the air. “Perfectly certain. But come see us again if the symptoms persist or worsen, and I’ll conduct a more thorough examination.”

“Doctor,” Spock said as the doctor began moving towards the door. “Could you clarify the meaning of ‘crush’ in this context? Clearly, you are using a colloquialism.”

The doctor shook his head with a grin. “Not sure if I can, Commander. I’m a doctor, not a linguist. I really wouldn’t worry about it.”

Spock left the clinic feeling mild agitation and a strong distaste for the doctor who examined him. When he returned to his office, he researched different usages of the word “crush” in human Standard. His findings only agitated him more.


	7. Impulse

It was announced in January that the Annual Federation Linguistics Conference would be held on Earth that year, hosted by none other than Starfleet Academy itself. Uhura had let out such a dramatic cry when she found out, Gaila thought she had been physically wounded.

“If it had just been _one_ year later, I would have graduated,” she moaned into her pillow.

“Technically, two. You’d still be a fourth year next—” Gaila was cut off by another anguished wail.

The last time the conference was hosted on Earth, guests complained about the panels being overly crowded, and officers were ceaselessly harassed by overbearing cadets hoping to network. As a countermeasure in subsequent years, cadets were barred from attending the event unless expressly invited by an officer of Starfleet.

Spock had been outlining his next lecture for 3 minutes and 47 seconds when he realized that Cadet Uhura was not listening. She had not responded with her usual acknowledging hums and nods, and was not even looking at him. “Miss Uhura?” he finally said, tipping his head in an attempt to catch her gaze.

“Sorry.” She looked up at him at last.

Spock’s eyes wandered to his desk, where her eyes had been fixed since she sat before his desk that afternoon. The AFLC schedule was open on his PADD, sitting slightly askew before him. “Have you found any of the programming to be interesting?”

She blushed and looked away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I can understand your curiosity, as cadets will not be permitted to attend this year.”

“Well, nothing I can do about that.” She shrugged half-heartedly. The way her mouth pressed a bit tighter and her eyebrows twitched illuminated her displeasure. Something tugged inside Spock’s stomach. He had, for some time, found that her displeasure caused him personal discomfort, as though her emotional state were contagious. He often caught himself going out of his way to keep her from experiencing it—turning down the temperature in his office when she started tugging her sleeves up, procuring her a cup of coffee when she began pressing her fingers into her forehead.

He questioned himself at every impasse: could this be considered partiality? Had she, or anyone else, taken note of this change in his behavior? He had sat at his desk for nearly an hour one night, staring at two side-by-side definitions on his computer.

**friend [frend] _noun_ : **a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual or family relations.

**crush [krəSH] _noun_ ( _informal_ ): **a brief but intense infatuation for someone, especially someone unattainable or inappropriate.

They were both terms that had been used to describe his relationship with Cadet Uhura. Despite his thorough study, he was no closer to understanding how they might apply to his own stance on the matter. They were concerned primarily with emotions, which were faraway, indistinct concepts from his childhood—one of the few things in his lifetime that he could not recall with utmost accuracy. He tried to pick each definition apart, bit by bit.

**affection [ _uh_ -fek-sh _uh_  n] _noun_** : a gentle feeling of fondness or liking.

**fondness [fond-nis] _noun_** : affection or liking for someone or something

**liking** **[lahy-king] _noun_** : a feeling of regard or fondness

Every line of inquiry proved tautological, and the further Spock investigated, the more puzzled he ultimately became.

**infatuation** **[in-fach-oo-ey-sh _uh_  n] _noun_** : an intense but short-lived passion or admiration for someone or something.

Intensity of emotion had only arbitrary measurements, therefore Spock could not draw any viable conclusion about it. “Short-lived” was plainly inaccurate; his regard for Cadet Uhura was certainly not a fleeting one, but one that was substantiated by many logical reasons.

Furthermore, he was disturbed by some of the language used in these definitions: _unattainable_. _Inappropriate_. _Passion._

_Sexual_.

It was a word he had never applied to any relationship with a cadet, or any relationship at all. He understood what it meant, but that meaning had only ever appeared to him as words on a page, diagrams in a textbook, with no tangible associations to make it real. Yet something in the shape of its letters—all curves and criss-crosses—brought to mind the line of Cadet Uhura’s waist when her jacket was zipped tight, the trails her fingers left on his skin, and the path her eyes took as the turned towards his face. His flawless memory allowed him to forget neither the word, nor the images it conjured in his mind’s eye. It was on the verge of distracting when she was sitting close to him, one elbow casually resting on his desk as she tilted her head to once again study his PADD in the silence that passed between them. She looked utterly forlorn and words tumbled out of his mouth in a hurried effort to alter its expression.

“Would you like to accompany me?”

The change on her face was instant. “… Really?”

Spock stood up and walked around his desk, turning the PADD to face her as he did so. “Considering your academic focus, and both the professionalism and discretion you have demonstrated in your career as a cadet, I do not believe it would be inappropriate to extend the invitation. In fact, it seems only logical to do so, considering your strong desire to attend.” Perfectly logical, he concluded, and definitely unrelated to the satisfaction he felt at the unbridled delight that graced every crease and corner of her face.

She jumped up from her chair and threw her arms around his neck and gave it a tight squeeze. Spock was nearly suffocated by the clean smell of her hair, the ever-familiar sandalwood scent that clung to her clothes, the brief brush of her cheek against his neck. He did not move away, but Uhura felt his entire body tense in her arms. She stepped back quickly and pressed her hands against her sides, immediately assuming a military stance. “Sorry, God, that was completely inappropriate.” She looked down. “Especially since you just went on about my professionalism and everything but… I’m just so _excited_.”

“That is apparent.”

She waited for him to admonish her in some fashion, but he did not. She glanced up to find him studying his PADD very intently, his fingers framing either side of it in exact symmetry.

“So… How do you want to do this?”

He looked up as if noticing her for the first time and blinked. “Yes. I will meet you at the entrance of cadets’ quarters at 0700 on Saturday.”

“I can just meet you there…”

“Campus will be crowded. It will be simpler if we are together from the beginning. It may cause you trouble if we are separated.” He looked back down at the PADD, but his pupils did not move in the rapid way it usually did when he read. They remained fixed on one spot with intense concentration.

“Are you okay, Commander?”

“Yes, quite.”

“Are you angry? I’m really—”

“That is an emotional response that I am not susceptible to.”

“Right.” Uhura shifted her weight for another moment, before saying tentatively, “So… tomorrow’s lecture?”

“Of course.” Spock resumed his place behind his desk once more, placed the PADD perfectly centered between them. For the rest of their meeting, he refused to meet her gaze, and she left his office feeling absolutely mortified.

* * *

Uhura was awake at the crack of dawn that Saturday. She pulled on a clean, pressed uniform and new tights. She polished her boots, stuck her hair with pins until not a strand was out of place. She knew she was supposed to fly under the radar today, but in the off-chance she did meet someone important, she wanted to be as crisp as possible.

She was already standing on the stairs outside the dormitory when Spock arrived, at 0700 on the dot. She greeted him with a polite salute, and he responded in kind. The gesture felt foreign in its formality, which had slipped from their interactions without either of them noticing.

As they approached the assembly building, they joined the large mass that was gathering at its entrance. Uhura felt out of place in the blazing red of her cadet uniform, a sore spot in the throng of officer grays. Once they entered the building, a large meeting hall with a full Academy capacity auditorium, and several hallways of smaller presentation rooms, the crowd became more diverse. Multicolored alien visages, the triad of active duty uniforms, and a variety of cultural attires mixed into the Earth Starfleet drab.

Whatever awkwardness lingered between Commander and Cadet was forgotten by both through the course of the day. They followed the schedule they had drawn out the previous evening, debated enthusiastically about the lectures as they hurried from panel to panel.

Over lunch they were invited to eat with the senior staff of the communications department, gathered at a table in the building’s courtyard. Uhura’s chest fluttered when Spock noted to the department chair that, “Cadet Uhura has demonstrated an unparalleled ability to identify sonic anomalies in subspace transmissions tests.”

The department head raised her eyebrows and directed a bewildered look at Uhura. “That might be the highest praise I’ve ever heard Commander Spock give one of his students, Cadet. You must be very exceptional indeed.”

Uhura shrugged off the compliment, attributing it to hard work, dedication, and any other Starfleet core values she could muster in the moment. She caught Commander Nichols staring at them oddly as she sipped her water, narrowed eyes darting between Uhura, Spock, and the department chair.

“I must thank you, Commander,” she had said later as they moved to the main auditorium for the closing address.

“Gratitude is unnecessary. This arrangement did not inconvenience me in any way. I believe that your attendance will be benefit not only yourself, but also the Starfleet Academy community, given your ability to apply knowledge and instruction. And…” he clasped his hands behind his back and looked away from her, into the mottled heads and hemlines surrounding them. “I have enjoyed your company at this event. It is more satisfying and productive when with a partner to engage in intellectual discourse.”

Uhura subtly elbowed him in the arm in a gesture that would have appeared accidental to a bystander. “I had fun too. But seriously, I mean for the other things too. All the nice things you said about me to the other commanders. It might wind up being really helpful when I get my assignment.”

“Again, you are mistaken in expressing gratitude. I was only stating fact. I would have said the same about any other student who had your aptitude.” Except, he thought, that any other student might not have accompanied him to this event in the first place.

She shrugged. “Well… I guess… thanks for letting me hang around. I feel like I’ve been nagging you all year. I know we’ve kind of…” she puffed out a quick laugh, “ _Agreed_ to be friends. But it’s only because I was so pushy from the beginning. And I’m constantly stepping out of line, and you just take it in stride. You’re so patient with me, I feel like I’m taking advantage of your Vulcan impassivity.”

“You are making an incorrect assumption, Cadet.” Spock stopped walking and Uhura almost got swept away from him in the motion of the crowd.

She turned to face him and bit her lip. “What was it this time?”

“That is not how I perceive the progression of our acquaintance. What you describe as ‘pushy’, I view as ambitious and steadfast. From what you have taught me about the nature of friendship, it is a reciprocal arrangement, in which I, too, benefit. Vulcans do not exaggerate. You are remarkable, Miss Uhura.”

Uhura didn’t know how to respond. Her skin prickled at the sound of his voice. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed recently, his praise was bordering on profuse. It was given so readily, it felt like the Vulcan equivalent of gushing. She had never heard him speak so highly of any other cadet, not even the ones in their class who they both agreed showed exceptional talent and promise. The way his eyes held hers in a steady, resolute gaze spread a shiver from her spine through her ribcage, as though her neural pathways had been shocked.

Gaila’s words made an untimely reappearance in her head.

_You_ like _him._

“T-Thank you, Commander,” she managed to stammer at last, bowing her head slightly and cursing her outspoken roommate.

“Once again—”

Uhura held up her hand. “I know. I’ll stop thanking you now.” She smiled. “Come on, I want to get a good seat.”

In the darkened auditorium, the excitement of the day’s events settled, like the languor that envelops a room after a satisfying meal.

When Uhura absentmindedly lay one arm on the seat’s arm rest, she was unprepared for the warm touch of the Commander’s arm, also placed lightly in the space between them. Spock was likewise unprepared for the way her hand fell, smooth and cool, against the back of his. They both spent the remainder of the lecture wondering why the other was not moving away, while finding themselves unwilling to do the same.

Neither could quite recall the content of that final speech as they stepped into the darkening quad, silently navigating the flood of people dispersing through campus. They said polite goodbyes and tried, with difficultly, to shake the pins and needles that were still running amok along the places where their skin had made contact.

* * *

The days grew in length, but Uhura hardly took notice between wrapping up the last semester of her penultimate year, and finishing the outline for her thesis. She got in the habit of studying in Spock’s office rather than the library or her quarters. Once she had finished assisting his office hours, or correcting his assignments, she found it easier to transition into doing her own assignments without having to pack everything and move. Sometimes she didn’t even notice him come and go, leaving to teach other lectures or work in the lab.

Other officers and cadets in the department noticed, but never questioned this development. The unlikely friendship between the two became a mundane feature of their departmental dynamic. While passing jokes were thrown out here and there, nobody seriously suspected anything short of irreproachable conduct from the department’s most driven cadet and incurably somber commander.

Spock was not one to lock his door, even before she became a fixture in his office. He was not opposed to her liberal presence—he saw the logic in it, since work stations at the library were often all occupied at this time of the semester, and he could understand how cadet boarding and mess halls were unconducive to focus. He was less and less surprised to find her hunched over some texts in her corner desk when he entered his office, and he never asked her to leave.

“I am returning to my quarters for tonight.” Spock’s long shadow fell across Uhura’s desk one evening in late April. Despite the hour moving close to 2030, a sliver of vibrant pink still lingered above the tree line.

“Yeah, I should go too. Hey, can you take a look at this paragraph for a second?”

Spock placed a hand on her desk and leaned over her shoulder, his eyes darting back and forth as he read it. She sat very still, aware of the warmth of his neck just inches from her ear, his fingers just centimeters from where hers curled around her PADD. He nodded slightly. “It is certainly an improvement on your last draft.”

Uhura let out a sigh of relief. “I’m so close to finishing this outline.”

“As always, your diligence rewards you.” Spock looked at her without standing straight. Their foreheads were just inches apart. “I admit, you very often impress me.”

Maybe she was flattered by the praise that he always imparted so easily. Or maybe it was his close, unwavering gaze. The PADD slipped out of her hand to rest on the table with a faint _clack_. The last grain of sand toppled the scales in one, lurching moment. Uhura found herself leaning closer and surprisingly, Spock did not feel compelled to pull away from her advance.

On the contrary, he was drawn in by the way her eyelids became heavier with each blink. Uhura was almost certain that she initiated the kiss, but the fact remained that he reciprocated. The pressure of his mouth was characteristically firm, yet unexpectedly gentle. She tilted her chin so that their lips fit just so, like an elegant equation. His hand moved unconsciously, turning his palm up and letting his first two fingers brush hers lightly. An intimate, exhilarating thread of warmth passed between their bare skin. They pulled away quickly, their expressions mirroring the same combination of shock and panic.

Spock turned and walked out without a word, leaving Uhura in his empty office, trying to ascertain whether she had just experienced a very elaborate daydream.

Spock returned to his quarters that night and meditated for a long time, but the fluttering in his lower right abdomen refused to subside. It took every effort of his lifelong Vulcan training to suppress the euphoria that spread rapidly, alarmingly throughout his body.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovestruck fanboy Spock was very fun to write. I apologize, however, if he was at all out of character. I may have taken some liberties with the territory.


	8. Normalcy

It was 2100 by the time Uhura had managed to collect herself and return to her room. She had sat paralyzed in Spock’s office for a long time, watching the light slip from the surfaces of the room.

She honestly didn’t realize why it happened until it already had. She had been swatting away the possibility for a long time. She couldn’t recall when her feelings had grown—there was no defining moment, no clear line. She couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him, but she was never one to lose herself over something as simple as a pair of nice eyes and square shoulders. And perfect cheekbones.

It was more than that. There was something easy about his company that she fell into unconsciously. His stoicism made it difficult for her to recognize any change or overfamiliarity when they were alone. His indulgence was her undoing. It let her close the space between them bit by bit without even realizing it, and now she had definitely, undeniably crossed the line.

Uhura had not even noticed that she skipped dinner until her stomach made a sound of complaint as she lay in bed, the notes she intended to review resting untouched on her chest.

“Stop skipping your meals,” Gaila groaned from her side of the room. “Your neglected stomach keeps me up at night.”

“Sorry, it just slipped my mind.” Uhura began shutting off her devices. She went across the hall to brush her teeth, and then returned and changed out of her uniform. As she folded herself under her sheets she realized Gaila was staring at her.

“What?”

“Are you seriously going to sleep right now?”

“I’m tired.”

“Nyota. You are _never_ tired. Is everything okay?”

Uhura sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just had a long day.”

Gaila watched her carefully as she put aside her own PADD. “You can turn off the lights. I should go to sleep too, I was prepping for finals all last night.”

“With Kirk? I’d hardly call that studying.”

“It helps me focus.”

They lay in the dark for a moment before Uhura spoke, her words coming out hoarse. “Hey. Have you ever done something that you really weren’t supposed to and you definitely can’t take back?”

“All the time. Why, did you accidentally steal a cup from the mess hall?”

“No, I’m just wondering.” Uhura ignored Gaila’s dry tone. “How do you deal with it?”

“Oh my god, you’re serious.” Uhura heard the sheets on Gaila’s bed shift, but kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Well, let me put it in a way you’ll understand. It’s like answering something wrong on a test. It definitely affects your score, and you can’t go back and change it, but with all of the tests and grades you’ll get in your life, the small mistakes don’t really do much in the big picture. Just don’t screw up too badly—like beyond saving.”

Uhura answered with a long sigh. “I can’t really tell how much I screwed up this time.”

“So… are you going to tell me what happened?”

She didn’t reply.

“Oh my god, did you finally have sex with Commander Spock?” Gaila made no attempts to hide the mirth in her voice.

Uhura was thankful to the night for masking all the different hues that passed across her face. She turned to face the wall, gathering her sheets tightly around her. “ _No_ , Gaila. Good night.”

The next day, Uhura avoided Spock’s office as long as she could. If any of the students noticed how conspicuously quiet she was during that day’s lecture, they attributed it to end of semester exhaustion.

As she tried to make a swift escape at the end of class, Spock approached her, keeping at least a solid meter between them as he said, “Cadet Uhura.”

She turned her shoulders very slightly towards him, but kept her gaze somewhere around his elbow. “Yes, Commander?”

“Will you join me in my office once your classes have finished for the day? I would welcome assistance in continuing our evaluations of the class’ final thesis.” She could hear the edge in the extra-careful enunciation of his words.

“Of course. I was planning on it.” Unsure of how to end their conversation, Uhura felt her body automatically assume a salute.

Their eyes met for the first time that day. She could not even begin to guess what he was thinking. There was a split-second of hesitation before he returned it.

When she got to his office that day, he looked up very briefly when his door slid open. His gaze averted so quickly, she would have thought the sight of her caused him physical pain. Her insides cringed. “Good afternoon, Commander.”

“Cadet.”

She sat at her desk but could not focus on the essay in front of her. Her face was hot with embarrassment and her heart refused to keep an even pace. After a particularly long, uncomfortable silence, Uhura set down her PADD with a small groan. “Okay, I can’t keep this up. I am _so_ sorry about yesterday.”

Spock did not look up, in one of those deliberate non-actions that he was so fond of. “I also apologize. I acted inappropriately.”

Uhura covered her face with her hands, pressing her fingers to her temple. She needed more caffeine—she had hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning as she imagined different renditions of this exact conversation. “No, it was totally my fault. I completely…” She let out a shaky breath as she swallowed the thick clump of emotion that threatened to crawl up her throat as she began to consider what this could do to her job, her thesis, her reputation, her career.

“I would not consider the fault to be entirely yours.”

“What?”

Uhura peeked through her fingers. Spock’s grip on his stylus was turning his knuckles white. A long pause passed before he said, eyes still fixed on his desk, “I think it was clear that the action was mutual.”

Uhura had no good response for this. This observation had somehow escaped her in the blind panic she had been staving off since the previous evening. Thinking back, however, she recalled how he had leaned forward just slightly to meet her lips, and how when she tilted her head, he angled his as well in response. It had taken her a full 24 hours to register that this meant he had actually kissed her back. Her mind went blank as she fumbled for an easy solution.

“Let’s just forget it ever happened, okay?”

“I have a perfect memory,” he replied quickly.

Uhura squeezed her eyes shut. She did not have time for this. She had a final exam in two weeks, a research paper and a lab report due, three of the six simulations she had to pass in order to complete her third year, not to mention a computer science project she still had to finish. On top of that, there was her thesis outline, and helping Commander Spock review final papers for his class. “Listen, maybe we should talk about this after the semester is over.”

“That may be wise.”

A long silence passed, and Uhura’s attention began returning to her work, when his voice cut off her train of thought. “I will not be teaching next semester.”

“Hm?” Uhura kept her eyes on her work, determined not to allow herself to be shaken.

“I have been offered the position of first officer on the _USS Enterprise_ , and will be shifting my focus next year to overseeing its construction and assembling its crew.”

“Oh. Wow.” She let out a breath. “The _Enterprise_. Now _that_ would be my dream assignment.”

“Considering your academic performance and demonstrated abilities, I do not find it unlikely that you could achieve such an assignment.”

“Thank you. And… congratulations.”

“I thought the information was relevant, considering our situation.”

She looked up and realized that he was finally looking at her. His eyes were timid and inquisitive. She felt the awkwardness that gripped her insides soften into the gentle fondness that often spread through her when she caught a glimpse of his vulnerabilities. A smile crept onto her lips. “Our situation?”

The tips of his ears turned slightly green and he looked away. “Let us, by your suggestion, continue this conversation once the semester is completed.”

* * *

Both Commander Spock and Cadet Uhura excelled at nearly everything they applied themselves to. It was part of what drew them together—a shared intellectual superiority and academic diligence. Both were athletic, attractive in their own right, and composed. What Spock lacked in social skills, he made up for with respect and politeness. What Uhura lacked in affability, she made up for with wit. Their shared flaw: complacency in their abilities.

Which is why neither anticipated the difficulty they would face in achieving the simplest thing: normalcy.

They avoided standing or sitting close as much as they could, both concerned that simple proximity might result in unwarranted behaviors from themselves. Eye contact was, unless out of necessity, absolutely impossible. Touching was out of the question. Yet, the two followed each other’s backs constantly with heavy gazes of carefully masked longing.

Uhura often felt the urge to reach out and slide her hands into the gaps between his arms and waist, grasp the starched fabric of his uniform and rest her head between his shoulder blades. He always smelled like clean linen and something else she could only identify as himself. She became exhausted by the daily effort of avoidance.

Students couldn’t help but notice that during their last few weeks of office hours, the commander and cadet sat on opposite ends of the couch—or with one of them sitting on the chair that was previously occupied by their students. The discomfort they all felt in having to share a couch with either Spock or Uhura, while the other sat in the chair, highlighted this development.

“Do you think Mom and Dad are fighting?” Cadet Sulu whispered to a classmate as they left a particularly awkward session in the week before their final. Uhura and Spock had accidentally touched hands as they reached for the PADD between them, and then refused to look at each other for the remainder of the meeting. The other cadet threw up his arms and shook his head in response.

The communications cadets and officers also noticed that Uhura stopped lingering in their department offices, and that Spock was engaged much more often in the science departments. This brought to notice something they hadn’t considered before: how much time this science officer had been spending in his teaching office and lab space in communications, when he was part of far more involved research projects in the computer science labs. They had all grown accustomed to Uhura’s laughter ringing through their offices, to hearing their debates continue with them through the hallway, in the break room as Spock made tea and Uhura made coffee, and then back again, not once pausing their conversation.

So when Commander Nichols walked into the break room to see them making their respective beverages in silence, she knitted her eyebrows. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Commander,” Uhura said as she took a sip of her coffee. She passed Nichols on her way out without a word to Spock. Nichols took down a cup and set it under the beverage machine.

“Are you two okay?” she asked Spock as she tapped in her preferences.

“Specify?”

“You and Cadet Uhura, I mean. You seem… off.”

Spock paused scrolling the tea menu on the machine beside her. “‘Off’ is not a specific descriptor.”

“Commander, are you being evasive?” she asked in disbelief.

“I do not know what you mean.”

The trickle of liquid into Spock’s cup filled their silence. She took a sip of her coffee. “Listen, this is not my business but…” she sighed. “I have known Cadet Uhura since her first year, and the way she is with you is… different. And I don’t really know you all that well, but you talk to her differently, too. Or, at all. I think I’ve seen you _smile_ at her, Commander Spock.”

Spock was suddenly very interested in calculating the rate at which his tea was filling his cup. Not fast enough to be satisfactory, he concluded. “I would implore you to explain the relevance of these observations, Commander.”

“Is there something… _going on_ between you two?”

“Explain, ‘going on’?”

Staring into Spock’s blank face, Nichols felt her own heat up. “Something… romantic? Or…” she looked away, but couldn’t quite get the word ‘sexual’ out.

Spock picked up his cup. “There is not.”

“Are you… sure?”

“Vulcans do not lie.”

Commander Nichols narrowed her eyes at him before turning to add a bit more sugar into her coffee. “Well,” she said. “I hear you’re not teaching next semester.”

“That is correct.”

“Congratulations on making the _Enterprise_. First Officer, no less. I’m on the _Farragut_ … and a little jealous.” She laughed.

“The _Farragut_ is an exemplary vessel.”

“Yeah, but it’s no Federation flagship.”

Spock paused on his path towards the doorway and turned around. “I am greatly anticipating my assignment.”

“For many reasons, I’m sure.” Commander Nichols took a sip of her coffee to cover a small smile.

* * *

The night Cadet Uhura had kissed him, or more accurately, the night he and Cadet Uhura shared a mutual kiss, Spock had been appalled at his own behavior—at his weakness. While Uhura had been the one to initiate the human kiss, he could not deny that it was his hand that had pressed against hers in the Vulcan one. He passed three straight days without sleep, engaging in deep, self-reflective meditation each night instead. He could not understand why his body was betraying him, why his mind was unable to harness his actions.

Or why, within the conglomeration of shock, embarrassment, fear, and self-loathing that he worked to suppress, there was a bright, burning elation threatening to blind all other sensations.

He realized, to some degree of horror, that the desire for nearness was something that had been underlying their interactions for some time. It was only when he succumbed to it that he recognized how strong it was. He wished ardently, uncontrollably, to hear her voice, touch her skin, and have her eyes fixed, with that gentle, affectionate expression, on only him. It was humiliating.

They had agreed to postpone any conversations about the matter until after the semester ended; logical, he reasoned, given their current relationship as student and teacher, which would make even an acknowledgement of what had passed between them imprudent. He did not want to jeopardize his own career, which he had sacrificed much to achieve, nor hers, which she worked so hard to pursue.

Yet there were times when he watched her figure, back arched gracefully as she leaned back to examine the diagram she had just drawn on the board, that he wanted to reach out to her, explore the different configurations his arms could have around her waist and hips, press his face into the slope where her neck met her shoulders. Of course, he had the restraint to never even twitch a muscle when these thoughts passed his mind, but the fact that they ever did mortified him.

This was exacerbated by the fact that other officers noticed the change in their relationship and questioned him about it. It became all too clear how plain their indiscretions were, although nobody but he recognized them as so. He answered everyone politely and made himself scarce, taking comfort in circuits and machines and books that could not watch him.

In the last week before classes ended, he knew there was a pressing matter which he could not put off much longer. He already had several missed transmissions and messages bidding him to open contact. Procrastination was not the Vulcan way, but he found himself unsure of how to navigate this impending conversation.

At last one night, at an hour he knew she would be unoccupied, Spock opened a transmission with his Vulcan homeworld, to the private line of T’Pring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the last. Thanks for sticking with me.


	9. Changes

Spock awoke suddenly to an incoming transmission alert blaring through his quarters. The light in his apartment was a still a faint, soft gray. He was lying on the couch, where he had fallen asleep last night. At the time it had seemed a logical course of action, as the couch was comfortable enough that there was no reason to remove to his bed when he would rather lie in one attitude to process the events of the evening.

He regretted this decision now. He would need to make time to visit the athletic facilities and stretch out the knots in his neck and back before classes. His computer was still sitting next to the chess set on his center table. He sat up and opened the transmission. His mother’s face appeared on screen.

“Good morning, Mother.” He worked to keep the exhaustion out of his voice.

“Spock.” Amanda’s eyes crinkled with concern. “You must know why I am calling.”

“I would presume T’Pring’s family has informed you of her decision to consummate a bond with the one called Stonn.”

“Your father is beside himself.” Amanda’s tone was sharp. “After everything that happened with your departure from Vulcan, you must understand the disrespect you’ve shown by severing your bond with T’Pring without first informing us.”

“I apologize, Mother.” Spock looked down, unable to meet her chiding eyes. His mother very rarely spoke harshly to him, and each time her words weighed on him.

A silence passed before Amanda asked, gently, “What happened, Spock?”

“Our bond was weak,” Spock said. “The distance was its undoing.” This was not wholly inaccurate.

“I thought Vulcan bonds were stronger than that. Distance has never been a problem for your father and I.” Her eyebrows drew in as she searched his face for signs of hurt. Spock showed none, because he felt none.

Spock and T’Pring had not corresponded since the previous spring. Even before then, their communications had always been, at best, polite. There had never been any warmth between them, but regardless, she had been an essential part of his upbringing. Though they were not friends and never spent their leisure time together, when they were children, T’Pring always cut between Spock and his tormentors with a sharp voice.

“That one is to be mine, as I am to be his.” She would narrow her eyes as she passed, flanked by several other slender, poised Vulcan girls. “Do not disrespect him.” The boys would back away from Spock with bows of deference, only to find him again later, out of her sight.

When they were fourteen Spock did not experience Pon Farr, as was expected of a Vulcan his age. They attributed this to his human physiology, but he and T’Pring underwent the motions of a bonding ceremony regardless. It was quiet and formal, unlike most frenzied first bondings. It was the first time he had connected so intimately with anyone outside of his parents. He found the neatness of T’Pring’s mind fascinating.

“Master yourself, Spock,” she told him as she left that night. “Your mind is chaotic. Do not disgrace me.”

As the years went by, their relationship passed uneventfully, all respect and formality. Pon Farr had a later onset in Vulcan females, and Spock remained immune to the blood fever himself.

The evening before Spock was to leave for Earth, T’Pring visited him at his home and requested a private audience. They sat together on the stone balcony outside Spock’s bedroom, watching the red sky darken. “Have I disgraced you?” Spock asked after a drawn out silence.

“Your decision is unprecedented.” T’Pring met his eyes. “I find it intriguing. Until now, you have never intrigued me.”

Spock was silent. Now that he was so close to leaving, he felt acutely the uncertainty in not having T’Pring on the peripheries of his life.

She reached over and held his hand in hers, pressing their fingers together. “Though you will be parted from me, we are never parted,” she said.

“Never and always touching and touched,” Spock responded, wanting to believe the ancient words.

“Would you like to consummate our betrothal before you leave?” she asked him, touching his knee with hers. “It will make our connection stronger. Perhaps when I experience Pon Farr, we may have the proper ceremonies.”

Spock did not pull away from her, but also did not move closer. “We will wait,” he said. Though he stared at her for a long time, her face glowing in the fading light, nothing in his blood stirred at the sight of her smooth features. He remained unmoved by the undeniable beauty in the slant of her eyes, or the warm touch of her fingers.

“Very well.” She released his hand. “I will take my leave, then.”

He had not seen her since that night. Part of him wondered, if he had acquiesced then, whether he would not be facing his current predicament.

“I am approaching Pon Farr,” she had said over transmission the previous night. “But I cannot feel you. I am afraid our bond has not endured separation.”

He noted that her face, indeed, was showing signs of distress. There was a peculiar strain to her voice that he had never heard before. Moreover, she said “afraid”—a word which had never been in her vocabulary.

“I have changed,” Spock admitted.

“I know,” she said. “Do not tell me that which I already must know. We are parted, but never parted… however we are no longer touching or touched.”

Spock did not have to respond. She had not asked a question, and he could not contradict her statement.

“May I consummate with another?” T’Pring asked finally. “There is one called Stonn. I desire him, and he desires me. As it is apparent you do not intend to return to Vulcan and relieve me, I must carry out the ritual with another.”

Spock nodded. “That would be logical. As we were never fully bonded, I do not find it necessary to engage in _kal-if-fee_.”

T’Pring blinked. Under the influence of the fever, she let a flicker of something expressive escape her eyes, though Spock could not identify what it was. “I am relieved, Spock. You have never once burned for me. I often wonder if you are even capable of it.”

Spock nearly ended the transmission without responding, but the gratitude and respect he carried for her would not allow him to make any omission. “I am,” he said quietly.

T’Pring searched his face, but he kept it carefully blank. At last, she nodded, and held up her hand in salute. “Live long and prosper, Spock.”

“Peace and long life, T’Pring.”

Somewhere in the stretch of night, Spock awoke suddenly to an emptiness he could not remember feeling before. He allowed himself a moment of emotion—something he could pick apart later in order to process his loss—but he was surprised to find that instead of sorrow, he felt only a profound relief.

“My connection with T’Pring was never true,” Spock told his mother, who was watching him expectantly through his silence.

“I see.” Amanda raised a hand to her forehead and sighed. “Sarek is not pleased that you have broken the Vulcan tradition. You didn’t even participate in _kal-if-fee_.”

“I expected so,” Spock said. “But as I have already defied and displeased him to a great extent, I reasoned that this additional affront would change little in our relationship.”

Amanda smirked. “You’re becoming more like me everyday.” She squinted at him through the screen. “You’ve changed, Spock.”

“Change is the only constant in the universe we know. It is therefore logical that I, too, would be susceptible to it.”

“Don’t be cheeky. Are you going to tell me her name?”

Spock tilted his head.

“The cadet you always talk about.”

There was a spark of delight in his mother’s expression that he found particularly endearing. He smiled just slightly. “Perhaps another time.”

He ended the transmission feeling lighter. Through all his imminent uncertainties, he always knew his mother would meet him at the end of every difficulty, sitting before him patiently with a cup of tea as he explained everything. He would someday come to regret this assumption.

* * *

No matter how much sleep she lost, or how fast she tapped her foot as she waited outside an exam room, when Uhura sat down to a test or simulation, her mind sharpened immediately. She performed exceptionally under pressure, never succumbed to fear. It was one of many qualities that would set her apart from other officers when she began active duty.

Yet when she walked into Spock’s office for their last meeting as instructor and teaching assistant, her anxiety refused to leave her. She sat down on the couch and pulled out her PADD to review some notes Spock had sent her in his last transmission.

She had found some way to dread and anticipate the end of the semester simultaneously. On the one hand, she would be glad to put this awkward dance she and the commander had been playing for weeks behind her. On the other hand, she had no idea what came next. Since the day after they kissed, their exchanges had not come remotely close to that particular topic, not even by implication. She began to wonder if the promised conversation would ever take place. It would be easy to part ways at the end of this afternoon and never speak of it again. He wouldn’t be teaching next semester, so she could safely assume they would not be forced to see much of each other as a result. It emerged as the simplest course of action.

But the thought of never again resuming their comfortable relationship felt unacceptable. The idea made her restless and uneasy. Even then, she began to doubt whether she would have the courage to broach the subject. Spock had given no indication of whether that momentary lapse of judgment they shared was, for him, just that—momentary. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to admit this to her, and was planning on letting the whole “situation”, as he called it, wear itself out.

But that kind of tactic contradicted his Vulcan candor.

Uhura oscillated back and forth on this nearly daily since their kiss—increasingly so as time passed and he only expressed discomfort in her presence. She was in the midst of another mental dispute when she felt the couch next to her sink.

“What are your impressions of Cadet Park’s participation in class, Miss Uhura?” Spock sat down next to her, holding a student evaluation between them. “While she spoke often, I do not recall her adding much of substance to many discussions. I do not want to discourage her from verbal participation in future courses, as it is an important aspect of class, but I would entreat her to form her ideas more carefully before speaking. Do you believe I have conveyed this accurately in my assessment?”

Uhura studied his face. He was different. She couldn’t say exactly what made her feel that way, but something had shifted in the way he carried himself.

Spock was too focused on the evaluation to notice how close to the cadet he placed himself. As soon as he sat down, he realized his mistake—and also that there was no going back. To pull away now would indicate aversion, and he was certainly not averse to their proximity. He fixed his eyes on the PADD.

“Hm…” Uhura leaned in somewhat reluctantly to read the PADD. “You know, compared to last semester’s evaluations, this is much more palatable.”

As she read it once more, Spock hazarded a glance towards her face. One long, silky strand had escaped her ponytail to rest against her cheek, indicating her exhaustion. He had long observed that she only allowed her hair to come loose from its tight bearings when she was having a particularly trying week. He wondered if he was the source of any of her difficulties. What had occurred three weeks ago placed them both in a dilemma, and she did not have the same ability to restructure her thinking to avoid being troubled by it involuntarily.

He felt then, a wave a strong, foreign emotion beat against the armaments in his psyche. It was unfamiliar, yet it originated from the deepest parts of him. Possessiveness, protectiveness, desire. He swallowed.

“Yeah…” she nodded slowly. “This definitely won’t make her cry and give up on her Starfleet career. Are you going soft?” She laughed with that airy sound Spock realized he missed hearing.

When she looked up at him, his thoughts briefly fluttered out of coherence. He reached out and captured the wayward strand between his fingers. He let his thumb follow the smooth, dark thread as he tugged it gently, his forefinger making a neat arc across her cheek.

Uhura held her breath and tried not to get dizzy from the way his eyes darted across every corner of her. His look was at once intense and unfocused.

“Commander…” she whispered, able to retrieve neither words nor sound with his face leaning in so close.

“Yes?” His voice sounded the same as always, only slightly more hushed, as though they were exchanging a secret.

“Tomorrow is the last exam day.”

She saw the change in his eyes at the word ‘exam’. He blinked, reoriented himself, and pulled away. “Of course.”

Spock held the PADD with both hands now, gripping it tightly as he tried to maintain equanimity. He began to realize why bonding was so essential to Vulcans, despite its archaic roots. Without it, he drifted, untethered in a rampant sea of ancient feelings.

Uhura saw a tiny gap open in the fortifications between them. Through it, she glimpsed a glimmer of hope. “If um, you’re not busy… would you like to meet after my last exam? I get out at 1700.”

Spock had no prior commitments, so he inquired after what building she was taking her exam. They finished the last of the student evaluations and parted more amicably than they had in some time. He thanked her for all of the great work she had done for his class, and she thanked him for his attentive instruction. They both expressed a polite anticipation for their scheduled meeting the following day.

* * *

Spock waited on a bench in the academic quad, reveling in the pleasant turn the weather had taken in the past few weeks. He had arrived early, driven by unfamiliar impatience, even though he knew she would not be released until the aforementioned time. Still, he found himself staring at the glass paneled façade of the building in anticipation, for at least twenty minutes until she finally emerged.

Uhura spotted him across the lawn, and could barely resist the urge to break into a run. She was taken back to a summer afternoon last year, when she first recognized his gait in a sliver of gray amongst the cadet reds.

They sat beside each other on the bench in silence for a very long time. The other cadets spilled out of the buildings, and a trickle of exam moderators followed in their wake. Neither of them were sure how to proceed—where to go, what to say. They watched the time pass on the glass-walled academic buildings, the sunlight dipping them in a bright, citrusy gold.

“How was your exam?” Spock asked when the quad was nearly empty, signaling the end of the semester.

“Good. I think I performed well.”

“I believe that is probable.”

There were many rational things that could have been said by the two intelligent, articulate people who sat together on that bench. There were words that needed to be exchanged, and a conversation they had both vowed to carry out. Instead, Spock closed the space between their hands and locked his fingers into hers. They felt their chests flutter in time and Uhura looked up into his dark eyes. They were gentle and imploring. She leaned forward and kissed him, and this time he did not pull away. In a single moment, an endless series of new possibilities opened up between them—an alternate path they had uncovered by simply brushing aside a few branches and leaves.

She liked the careful way he kissed her, how it felt solicitous, yet implied something untamed beneath its trembling restraint. He enjoyed the eager way she kissed him, how she held nothing back and responded to him without moderation. When they broke off for a breath, he rested his forehead against hers, letting the tip of his nose brush her cheek.

“Miss Uhura…” he began, reasoning that this might be the appropriate moment to outline clearly the strength of his affection and admiration, as well as his desire to not only remain in her company, but perhaps develop and intensify their familiarity in the future.

Uhura, who inferred everything Spock wanted to say from the way their fingers remained entwined, laughed and shook her head against his. “Call me Nyota.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that wasn't too anticlimactic. There is a sequel in the works, so keep an eye out if you are interested. Thank you for sticking with this story-if you have a moment to comment, I really appreciate any feeback. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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